


Of Ash and Snow

by TheLoneSurvivor



Series: Heroes, Legends, and Saviors [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Drinking, M/M, Slow Burn, Solstheim, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5601523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneSurvivor/pseuds/TheLoneSurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bormic and Ralof decide to take a trip to Solstheim. Exotic food, good drinks, sightseeing, no Imperial soldiers...  each-other; what’s not to love? Well… perhaps a few things…</p>
<p>***Currently on hiatus/very slow updates! Will be completed when more time is found.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off to Solstheim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnyautumnmorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyautumnmorning/gifts), [RainySpringMorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/gifts), [gukesd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gukesd/gifts).



> Decided to write a little more of this couple since why not, right? This is being gifted to sunnyautumnmorning and RainySpringMorning since I know how much this pairing means to them (thanks so much for the gifts, by the way) and also to gukesd because they seem to like Bormic and Ralof as a couple a lot as well, for some reason or another (thanks gukesd <3).
> 
> Oh, and belated Merry Christmas along with Happy New Year, everyone!

Ralof sighed happily as he sat half under the eaves of Candlehearth Hall on a spruce-carved chair, enjoying the sun above yet the ever-present chill of Skyrim wrapping around him like a frozen blanket. He sipped on a watered down ale as he felt it was a _little_ too early to crack open the full beverage in all its inebriating glory. He also had a plate with a few hunks of bread and melted cheese, getting colder by the second. The sun was just coming across the spot where it would be the middle of the day with near-white clouds floating lazily above the world of men and elves. A breeze was present as well, prompting many to add a cloak to their standard outfit, Ralof included.

Ralof wondered where Bormic had gone off to since he was normally back by eleven, yet it was closer to noon. _Perhaps he found himself a little too deep in conversation with the local Dunmer…_ he thought offhandedly. Sometimes that was what happened, where Bormic found that speaking with others that know Morrowind to be more preferable than try to talk about it with another Nord who knows Skyrim and only Skyrim. Ralof rolled his eyes at what Bormic would be talking about by then and took another sip of his drink.

Guards made their way through their usual routine with little deviation, except for one slipped on a particularly icy patch of stone, causing laughter to erupt for a few moments from the other guards before a glare as cold as the ice they slipped on quieted the person’s fellow men-in-blue. Aside from that. not much else strayed from normal. Dunmer were still wary to walk around outside the Grey Quarter and Nords still threw insults at those who felt brave enough. Ralof did his best to ignore that unfortunate part of the city’s daily activities so that it did little to impact his day.

“‘Bout bloody time I found you!” Ralof turned to see who had spoken and found a panting, almost weary Bormic. Sweat beaded down from his forehead only to sink into his hedge-like beard he had decided to grow since making it to Skyrim to help stave off the cold.

Ralof set down his drink on a nearby darkened stone slab along with his bread and cheese. “Oh? Was I not where you were expecting?”

Bormic nodded between panting and hunching over, hands slightly above his knees to help him recover from the fatigue he had built up by running, Ralof could only assume. “I had thought you were at the barracks for some reason or another before checking here. I ran all the way from the eastern gate to here!”

Ralof let his eyebrows raise. “Why would you do that? I can guess by the way you look that it wasn’t just a casual jog to help build endurance.”

“I found that a ship is going to Solstheim only a little under an hour ago. They depart at four after noon, so we have time to pack and tell Ulfric and Galmar of our plans.” Bormic said, now grinning from ear to ear.

“Wait, ‘we’? Both of us are going to this ‘Solstheim’ of yours?” Ralof asked, dumbfounded. _Apparently he’s been finding a way to leave Skyrim for a while…_ Ralof thought, answering his question from only minutes earlier. “When will we be back?”

“A month or two, I would think. It’s a week’s travel by ship and we’ll stay there for at _least_ two weeks. From what I know, we can afford the voyage, food, drink and housing for that time. Maybe even more if we do a little more than just sit in town.” He said with a wink, giving Ralof little left to the imagination of how he would obtain more coin. “So, you in?” Bormic asked to actually _give_ Ralof a choice in the matter.

“You sure Ulfric would be fine about it?” Ralof asked.

Bormic gave a curt nod and began walking to the Palace of Kings with Ralof following closely. “The war’s mostly over, Ralof! I mean, we’ve got Solitude left and Ulfric’s already told us that he’ll be holding off for at least two more months to have more supplies transported over and more ships built! I’m sure we can take off for a little more than half that time, or a little under without getting in too much trouble, especially if we tell him.”

Ralof couldn’t help but ask another question. “What if he says no?”

“Then we act all hurt, leave saddened and take off anyways!” Bormic said with a hearty laugh that could warm anyone’s soul. “I’m not losing a chance to see Morrowind, not ever. Who knows when we’ll get another chance like this, if at all. Not like I can really return to Morrowind, because of the Empire loyalists still around over there.”

“If Morrowind is filled with Empire loyalists, why are we going to Solstheim; isn’t it part of the Morrowind?” Ralof let loose another question to add to his bombardment.

“Yes, but it once belonged to Skyrim. Plus, it’s the most autonomous state in all of Morrowind, being out in the middle of the ocean, after all. Imperials don’t tend to go there much.” Bormic said with a nod.

With a sigh, Ralof spoke. “Alright, let’s go to Solstheim then.”

“Perfect!” Bormic couldn’t resist the urge to pull Ralof into a big bear hug. He released after a few seconds, almost wishing he didn’t have to. “I’m sure Solstheim will be better than standing around on some fort all day.”

“Couldn’t agree more, my friend.” Ralof said with a chuckle.

The walk up to the Palace of Kings took a little longer than normal due to Bormic’s fatigue but that still took no longer than twenty minutes. Most guards gave nods instead of worded greetings but it didn’t bother Bormic or Ralof; a dip of the head meant just as much as “Welcome” did after all.

Walls of stone surrounded the two soldiers as they made their way across the courtyard and uneven, rough stones worn down and turned dark with age. A few soldiers or guards were shooting arrows and the occasional bolt at a row of training dummies that had been set up, sometimes fumbling with notching the arrow with more than a few misses. _They must still be new recruits,_ Bormic thought to himself. _I hope they’re ready when they face battle in two months time._ The large steel doors were as cold as the ice underfoot but the pair passed through without trouble, especially since someone else had opened it for them.

Rather than meeting Ulfric, who was not at his throne and most likely in the war room beside it, Bormic and Ralof went straight to the barracks to begin packing up. They grabbed their uniforms, weapons, extra food that they were sure wouldn’t spoil easily, spare clothes and whatever gold they could gather from their chests in companionable silence. Once done, they made their way back to the main hall before Bormic opened the door, wearing his fur and leather gauntlets and told one of the guards to, well, guard their equipment for a few minutes and to not touch it. A toss of a smaller coin purse did good to keep him quiet and willing to do as they asked.

They made their way to the war room and waited until Ulfric and Galmar was done discussing their plans. They made no effort to get rid of the two soldiers who barged into the room.

“...You want to wait two months again… why?” Galmar asked, his hands gripping the dented and worn wood of the table that hosted the map of Skyrim on it, doned with little red and blue flags.

“So we can have some more ships made and sent to the blockade. The more the better, plus we can raid any Imperial ship that hadn’t heard the port was closed for all. And to send more supplies and men to the city before assaulting it.” Ulfric answered more calmly than Galmar when he had asked his question.

Galmar’s already present frown deepened. “I’d say just attack them now when they’re least expecting it.”

Ulfric laughed. “I thought _you_ were supposed to be the brains behind the plans. If we attack in a few months, their food supplies will have lowered and they’ll have less morale of that I’m sure. Easier to fight a starving, downhearted soldier than a well fed one willing to die for his people no matter the cost.”

Galmar glanced up to Ulfric and then to Bormic and Ralof before looking away at the window. “Fine, have it your way, Jarl. I’ll make sure no more supplies get across the borders.”

Ulfric nodded and turned to face the two soldiers who had stood quiet and patiently over that time. “Yes, Bormic and Ralof, what is it you two need?”

Ralof took in a deep breath and released it in the form of a sigh before attempting to speak before Bormic cut him off. “We were wondering if we could go out of Eastmarch for a month.”

“Oh?” One of Ulfric’s eyebrows raised and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”

Bormic nodded. “It is. May we?”

Ulfric rubbed his chin for a few seconds considering it. “Well, after everything you two have done, I guess it’s fine. But be back here by the eighth of Second Seed. That’s when the assault of Solitude will take place.”

The two soldiers nodded and said their thanks before making off quickly, leaving the two warriors to their peace. While Bormic was already smiling fully in pure excitement by the time they had made it to the door, Ralof still remained mostly calm. Although, he did have to admit, the prospect of going to another country and land was sounding more and more appealing with every word Bormic spoke of it, besides the ash that would be present. He was intrigued to find out how Dunmeri drinks were, as he had only lived off ale and mead in terms of alcoholic beverages, with the very occasional glass of wine.

As they got closer to the docks, Bormic and Ralof’s pace increased until they were almost sprinting to the ship. They had determined that actually sprinting would prove hazardous to them and whoever else might be in the way after Ralof had tripped over a loose stone and found himself with a large scrape across the knee. Bormic had handed him a potion from his pack which had helped, but the pain of the minor injury nor the taste of the potion made his day any better. The ship was in sight though, somewhere up ahead. Unfortunately, the ship looked like almost every other one in the harbour, so it would take some searching before they could find the one they wanted.

After speaking with several crewmen and captains alike, they found the ship they wanted. It looked pretty plain, with a simple white lining along the rims where the well aged spruce wood stopped. A dull white sail was tied up on the T-pose yardarms which was the standard for most other ships. The fairly small ship had a dragon’s head at its front, carved out of dark oak and painted with now-chipping golden paint.

The captain looked as aged as the ship he captained, hair tied back in a loose tail and a less-than-elegant suit that he was wearing with several lines of wrinkles across his face, giving him a middle aged and experienced look. “Ah, welcome to my little merchant ship. Travellers I presume?” His voice was easily one of the more handsome parts of him.

Bormic hailed him from across the deck and strode towards the captain, Ralof following only a few paces behind. “Yes, we seek passage to Solstheim. Is this the correct ship?”

The man nodded without hesitation. “Only place I really go now, what with the blockade of Solitude. Head off to Vivec every now and then but that isn’t nearly as often as to Solstheim.” He gave the two soldiers a quick inspection from his eyes and judgement alone and donned a genuine smile. “Thirty-five coins for the five day trip. I’m assuming you can pay that much?”

Bormic nodded and tossed him an almost bursting coin purse. “That should cover it.”

The Captain felt the weight of the purse and didn’t bother counting; at least not then. “Well then, welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy your passage to Solstheim. We’ll leave in two hours so you still have some time to do what you wish. We’ll wait for you, but only for another hour after schedule and then we’re leaving. Understood?”

Bormic and Ralof nodded in unison. “I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere though. At least, _I_ won’t be. Can’t speak for you though, Ralof.”

Ralof shrugged. “I’ll be with you, I suppose.”

Another set of footsteps alerted everyone that more people were coming aboard. The people looked oddly familiar to Bormic, for some reason or another. One, the man in front, had nothing but a dagger as his weapon yet he wore robes like a mage although he looked extremely Nordic. His companion was a Redguard, but looked as if she were a true-blooded Nord, wearing armour made of dragon bones and scales woven and bound together to make a heavy but extremely protecting look of armour.

The man in robes looked at everyone on the ship. “Is this the ship headed for Solstheim?”

“Yes, yes it is. For you and your companion, it would cost seventy coin for the five day travel.” The man repeated the sentence he had said to Bormic and Ralof only with slight variation.

The robed man handed over two coin purses each of a moderate size. “That should pay adequately enough.”

The Captain repeated his motions and nodded. “That it will. We’ll leave in two hours so you still have some freedom to roam before we set sail. Any more than an hour late and you’ll be left behind however; same thing I told those two,” he pointed at Bormic and Ralof, prompting the mage and his companion to look over and for the two soldiers to awkwardly wave back.

“I think that’s the Dragonborn, Ralof.” Bormic said, his voice hushed. “I remember seeing him from the treaty signing, and the Redguard following him too.”

The captain finished speaking and the possible Dragonborn looked over to the two soldiers standing awkwardly in the middle of the ship and beckoned for them to come over and sit with him.

“Well, this trip just got a _lot_ more interesting...” was all Bormic had to say.


	2. Raven Rock

The sea was good and calm for the first few days it took to make it to Solstheim. Blue sky was almost constant until about the third day, where dark storm clouds decided to replace it. The high winds from the storm didn’t do much to help travelling as it constantly blew directly into the ship’s sail, causing Gjalund, the captain of the ship, to either change course or tie up the sail entirely, relying on the rowing of the crew and travellers to get them to their destination. Ralof didn’t fare nearly as well Bormic, already feeling at home although never setting foot on the shore although both had to empty their stomachs, along with the mage, who may or may not be the Dragonborn and his companion sometime during the voyage.

Solstheim itself came into view about six days into the voyage as the limited visibility and decreased speed from the storm took away about two days from seeing it. As the island became closer and began to look larger, more details could be made out. The red and beige ash, the dead trees and small amount of giant mushrooms all presented themselves as the first features to be seen of the island. Ralof frowned at the sight, yet Bormic couldn’t feel more at home than, well, actually being home in mainland Morrowind. The eighth day was the last one of the trip and the one where the storm finally let up for the ash clouds that engulfed much of Morrowind and the surrounding sea. To Ralof, it had a strange beauty to it that he couldn't fully understand. It acted just the same as clouds, except much more red than any cloud he'd ever seen. Ash began to replace the rain as they made it closer and closer to the island, the ash almost flowing like snow.

The ship was finally beginning to pull into the harbour of Raven Rock by the time conversation struck up once more, as the past few days had been experienced in relative silence.

“So this is what Morrowind looks like often?” Ralof asked, leaning over the railing along with Bormic.

Bormic nodded. “Yes, it’s pretty sad to live in Morrowind nowadays. Heard it was better two hundred years ago, though. I can only imagine a Morrowind with blue skies and living plants that aren’t ash yams.”

The mage made his way over to the two soldiers. “Anything you can tell me of Morrowind before we land? I’ve never been to the province myself.”

Bormic gave the mage a glance and then nodded. “Sure; I’d recommend to never sleep outdoors if you had the option, as ash can quickly gather on you while you sleep and is one hell of a pain to get out of clothing. Aside from that, savour any fresh water you might find and always be ready to fight off creatures that have embraced the ash.”

The mage smiled a little. “Thank you. Here,” he said, putting a small pouch into Bormic’s hand. “That should do well to reward your advice. Always nice to know some information from someone who’s lived with what I may have to contend against.”

“No problem. The burned spriggans are probably the toughest thing you’ll have to face, but I’d imagine a little ice magic will do wonders on taking them out.” Bormic clenched the little pouch tighter and then put it in his pack at his feet.

The mage got up from the railing of the ship and walked over to his companion, busy sharpening her blade that seemed to be of the same material as her armour. “Come on, Salet, let’s get ready to touch land once more.”

The woman nodded wordlessly and stuffed her whetstone back into a moderately sized pouch tied onto her linen sash before following the mage over to the other side of the ship from the bench she had been sitting on.

It was only a few more minutes before the ship docked in the harbour. The small chuckling the ship made as it sliced through the waves slowly ceased and the creaking of the ship seemed just a little louder because of it. Bormic sighed and picked up his pack before slinging it over his shoulder, with Ralof preferring to just carrying his in his hands. They made it over to where the mage and Redguard were in a little more than twenty seconds.

A Dunmer dressed in fine clothing and followed by two bonemold armoured guards approached the ship. He didn’t even glance at the four travellers and made his way onto the ship, looking a little uneasy at the feel of the ship moving beneath his feet. “Ah, Gjalund. Was almost beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Gjalund was quick to answer, giving a few gestures to unsure crewmen on what to do. “We… uh, were delayed by bad weather. Before you even ask, yes I have the supplies you requested. But...”

“But?” The Dunmer showed clear annoyance as he Gjalund was stalling. Bormic had to roll his eyes; he’d seen too many grumpy Dunmer to ever be surprised by their pessimistic behavior.

Gjalund took in a deep breath. “This load cost me double than what we agreed upon.”

“Damnit Gjalund. You know that we don’t have that kind of coin.” The Dunmer’s frown only got deeper and more pronounced.

Gjalund shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. The East Empire Company increased their prices again, ever since the blockade of Solitude, I’ve had to get merchandise from Anvil. The inflation there is something that needs to be seen to be believed.”

The Dunmer shook his head, his head held lower than normal. “After all these years, they’re gouging us for every last drake we have. Let me talk to Lleril, I’ll see what we can do.”

“Don’t worry about the timing. Just pay me when you can.” Was Gjalund’s response.

The Dunmer turned to look at the travellers, eyeing each one in turn for a few seconds before speaking. “I don’t recognize any of your faces, so I’ll assume this is your first time to Raven Rock, outlanders. State your intentions.” He started by pointing at Bormic.

“Just here to visit Morrowind once more and spend some coin.” Bormic answered the demand handed to him.

The possibly royal Dunmer then pointed to Ralof.

“I’m with him,” Ralof said, giving a simple gesture to Bormic. “So I’ll be doing the same as him.”

The Dunmer, whose name didn’t seem to be revealed any time soon, nodded and then looked at the mage and his companion.

“Do you perhaps know anyone by the name ‘Miraak’?” The mage asked.

The Dunmer blinked several times. “Miraak… I… I’m… I’m not sure that I do. The name sounds familiar though.” He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his head. “Now, state your intentions.”

“Just travelling, much like those two. But my business is something more personal.”

The elf gave a curt nod. “Don’t be starting any violence here in Raven Rock. We’ve had enough disruption as it is; we don’t need you adding to it.” He pointed to the Redguard. “You, what are your intentions?”

“I’m simply following my friend. He knows what we’re doing, I just get shit done. Physically if needed.” The Redguard answered with a smirk.

The elven man looked at her with extra suspicion. “We don’t need you causing any problems either. It’s the quickest way into the dungeons here in town. Once outside the bulwark though, do whatever you want.”

The mage thought it was best to ask some extra questions. “Can you tell me anything about Miraak, then?”

The elf thought on it for a few seconds. “I don’t think so. I don’t… The name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think. But I’m not sure what.”

The Redguard also decided to cast the elf a question of her own. “Why are you so suspicious with outsiders?”

“I have to be.” The Dunmer answered simply. “As Second Councilor, the security of Raven Rock is my primary concern.”

“What do your titles mean?” The mage asked, obviously curious about Dunmeri customs.

Bormic thought it was best if he answered this question, rather than leave them all for the Second Councilor. “The Second Councilor, is of course, the second of a number of Councilors. In most cases, two, who govern over a particular area that is owned by the House that gave them the position. Second Councilors are given their rank by the first Councilor, however. And the Houses, such as House Redoran, Indoril and Dagoth, are also ruled by Councilors just of a much higher power.”

The Dunmer gave a nod of appreciation. “It’s good to see not all Nords are ignorant of other’s cultures. What he said is all correct, and this land belongs to House Redoran, if you were going to ask.”

The mage gave a nod of thanks to both the Dunmer Councilor and Bormic. “Thank you for answering my questions. In your case, Councilor, I’m simply trying to learn of my goal and this culture to not be as ignorant in the future.”

The Councilor gave another nod. “A noble goal and one easily achieved if you ask the right people. The people here have little tolerance of ignorance to their beliefs and so on.”

Bormic decided to ask his own question. “If I remember correctly, from the tales my parents used to tell me, House Redoran was the one who united the Houses in the wake of the Oblivion Crisis, right?”

The Dunmer couldn’t help but smile a little. Just a little. “Your memory is correct, Nord. House Redoran was able to gather the strength of all the Houses and push back the Daedra until the Champion of Cyrodiil ended the crisis for good.”

“All right,” the elf said as he clasped his hands together, “welcome to Raven Rock, enjoy your stay and I hope this place isn’t too disappointing for you and your expectations.”

He walked off and the two guards he had following him went with, going at a brisk pace.

The four travellers walked across the docks and into the city proper not long after as a group. Once they hit a crossroads, the mage and Redguard warrior parted way, headed towards the bulwark while Bormic and Ralof went in the direction of further into the city. "If you ever run across us while on the road, feel free to join us. We're not ones to say 'no' to extra company." The mage had said before leaving.

The houses were of an unusual design that Ralof had never seen before, but they certainly weren’t ugly. They reminded him more of the shell of an insect, with the ridges across the ash covered stone roofs and their rough surfaces. They were like tunnels that served as homes, which seemed a little odd, but it took only a remembrance of the Dwemer that it wasn’t all that unusual.

The flora was just as unfamiliar, with large red leaved plants that had thorns along their sides and brown vines that massed together into something resembling a huge pile of unorganized string. Giant mushrooms could be seen every now and then along with the slightly more present pine tree that showed itself in Skyrim in almost every Hold, while shrubs and low-lying bushes did their best to grow in the ashy landscape.

“So,” Bormic said, looking to Ralof. “This is mostly what Morrowind looks like, just some settlements still stick to wood as their primary structure material, like the one I grew up in. Now, how about we find somewhere to get a drink, eh?”

Ralof nodded. “Sounds like a great idea, Bormic. Not that you ever cease to have them.”

Bormic chuckled. “If you say so, my friend. If you say so...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story will hopefully have another chapter added to it every day for as long as it takes to run out of ideas.
> 
> Hope you all stick around until the end.


	3. The Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll hopefully update this every day" Yeah, I know, I'm a horrible person, lying like that. In my defense, Dragon Age: Origins is a much longer game than I thought it was going to be.

“ _The Retching Netch,_ ” Bormic read out the letters carved into the stone beside the door. “Seems like a fancy place, if I say so myself.” He said with a chuckle. He gave the door a gentle nudge and stepped inside with Ralof following closely.

The smell was the first thing they sensed in the building, strong pungent odours wafted from the lower parts of the building and out the door into the ashy world outside. The next thing was the sounds of laughter, drinking and general conversation with plenty of chants thrown into the mix for some drunken brawl or arm wrestle, most likely. But it wasn’t Skyrim so perhaps it was something else.

“Well then, this place seems… familiar. Guess it’s to be expected with inns though. The people are different but the activities always remain the same.” Bormic said with Ralof giving a small agreement in the form of a single nod.

They took a seat at the counter on two of the stools that had seen much better days. The bartender gave the pair a glance and then over to what would most likely become a fight. “What can I get for you two?”

Ralof was going to answer but paused. What drinks did they have? Would he even be able to pronounce the names of them once he heard them?

Fortunately, Bormic was the one who answered. “Two bottles of Matze, if you would.”

The Dunmer nodded and handed over the two bottles and walked off to go and cater to the needs of other customers. “Is Matze any good?” Ralof asked.

“Have a drink of it and see for yourself,” Bormic said just before drinking from his own beverage. They were all put in unusual jars it seemed, big and clunky unlike the beverages of Skyrim with the exception being wine. Why they put them in bottles that looked like they were stung by an entire beehive was something Ralof could never wrap his head around. But, he did have to admit, the bottles made pretty good clubs if need be.

Ralof sighed and then popped the lid off the drink and took a sip before he could really gather the smell to either make or break his good opinion on the beverage. It was surprisingly better than he had expected. It was a little bit sweet but had a bitter aftertaste, with a rather sour initial taste. He took another sip and was surprised to find that it tasted even better than last time with more of the sweet flavour making itself noticeable. The bitter aftertaste didn’t leave though.

Bormic, meanwhile, was drinking his like he drunk mead; very quickly. He was already beginning to tip the jar to a more upwards slant by the time that Ralof had enjoyed his first actual swig of the Dunmeri drink. He smiled and set down his half-full drink and clapped Ralof on the back gently as to not disturb him too much. “Good to see you enjoying the stuff. I practically lived off the stuff when I... ” Bormic paused and frowned, and looked down to the stoned floor.

Ralof noticed, of course. He set down his drink as well. “What is it, Bormic?”

Bormic snapped his head up to Ralof, looking at him with saddened eyes. “Uh… nothing much. Just… just thinking of my old life, you know? I was a completely different person when I walked into Skyrim.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ralof cast in the offer. No matter how much Bormic spent time with him, he never seemed to speak of his past in Morrowind; whenever he mentioned it he always stalled or changed the subject. Maybe this was Ralof’s chance to hear a few portions of his old life.

Bormic sighed deeply and looked into Ralof’s eyes for several moments. After a few seconds, he nodded and counted out ten coins, leaving them on the counter and telling the barkeep they’ll have a room for the night. The room itself was small but it wasn’t horribly so, like the inn at Riverwood or Candlehearth Hall. A single wax candle burned slowly, the flame lurching away from the door as it opened slowly and the two men stepped inside. Bormic sat down on the bed and Ralof closed the door before sitting on a chair on the opposite side of the room.

Another sigh erupted from Bormic. Something was definitely weighing deeply on his soul, Ralof knew that much. “Alright, so what do you want to know?” His words were slow; deliberate.

“I thought _you_ were the one who needed to get stuff off their chest.” Ralof said, eyebrow raised.

Bormic looked down to the floor. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Fine,” Ralof said with a curt nod that Bormic most likely didn’t see. “What’s troubling you?”

“My friends. My old friends; the ones I knew since my childhood.” Bormic said, again his pacing was slowed down much more than usual. “Do you know _why_ I left to Skyrim?”

Ralof gave a single nod of his head. “You said you wanted to fight for your god and be with your brethren while you do it.”

Bormic showed a wan smile. “There is some truth to that. It was the reason I kept on going to Skyrim, rather than… Rather than staying in Morrowind.”

“Why would you stay in Morrowind if your ideals wouldn’t allow that?”

Bormic’s tiny smile turned to a frown. He still didn’t look up from the floor. “Because I still had a choice. You don’t really understand; becoming a Stormcloak was a daydream of mine. I wanted to fight alongside my kinsmen in a land I could call my own. But that’s what it remained; a daydream. Hell, before the civil war, I was planning on joining the Legion stationed in Skyrim so I could see my homeland.

“It was never meant to be fulfilled, really. You know how people say that they dream of finding a sack of gold and jewels in a cave in the middle of nowhere? That’s what that idea was; something I wanted to happen but wouldn’t put the effort into going through with it.”

“If that’s the case, then why did you even show up in Skyrim?” Ralof asked.

“I had no other choice. As soon as the civil war begun, word spread faster than a dragon could fly. Even Black Marsh heard about it within the month. Since Morrowind is still ruled by the Empire, they ordered people to be conscripted into the Legion. People all over the country were ordered to join it; Dunmer, Nord, Imperial… didn’t matter. Skyrim was the second country to join the Empire and they were not so keen on losing their finest warriors.

“They took people in the dead of night; the Imperial soldiers. They captured them and took them out to be trained, most likely under an iron fist. Sometimes I even heard the screams… Half my friends were gone by the end of the week, and the conscripting only started three days prior. My parents didn’t want to see me get taken so they gave me as much food as they could and sent me off before I would be taken.”

“You still lived with your parents?” Ralof asked, confusion written on his face.

Bormic nodded. “I did. No one was willing to have me for work, except for the horrible pay of hauling around bags of wild plants that alchemists collected throughout the wilderness. I was also expected to be able to completely defend both myself and the people who I was working for.” He shook his head violently. “No, I never want to do that ever again. My parents didn’t mind, either. They still made their traditional Dunmer cuisine and I helped pay some of the taxes from the odd jobs I found myself doing. My favourite was mercenary work.”

Ralof’s eyes widened considerably. “You were a mercenary?”

“For a time, yes.” Bormic glanced up at Ralof. “Enjoyed the rushes it gave me, and the pay was phenomenal. But we were a small band and one time… we were outnumbered and outmatched in almost every possible way. I only barely managed to get away and I was lost in an ash storm for another two weeks. I vowed not to do that again for a long time.

“So I left my family behind and went out to Skyrim, as they’d find people to conscript in every town and city, and they often go to all of them, so there was no other place to go but the frozen north. Solstheim would have been a viable option, but no ships I knew went up there.”

“Why does all this trouble you?”

Bormic sighed once more. He seemed to be a little more upright, like the weight was being lifted off him with each word he spoke. “It’s because… You know how I explained I had friends who were conscripted into the Imperial Legion?”

Ralof nodded.

“Well, I… I killed a few of them.” Bormic let a silence fall over the room, only the occasional splash of wax onto the metal dish below it gave any sound, aside from the noises created from the main room that hosted a number of drunk individuals. “Not on purpose of course, but I’ve still done it. One during the Imperial party we encountered on our way to Dawnstar, one during the siege of Falkreath and now, the latest one, when we attacked Dragon’s Bridge. Jyrno, Fjelya, and Zralynd were their names. Dunmer, Nord and Redguard.”

“Sounds like you and your friends were a pretty diverse group.”

Bormic dipped his head. “We were. There was seven of us, most of us being Dunmer. Even had three girls in the mix, which always got the other group more than a little aggravated. Our rivals were all guys unable to actually get a girl for more than a month before they split. It was pretty hilarious seeing a big tough guy run off from some girl’s place bawling his eyes out.”

“So you’re hurt by the fact that you’ve killed good friends of yours?” Ralof asked.

“It’s more if they recognized me before I killed them, actually. I hate thinking about it, if they realized that it was me, Bormic, who brought their death upon them. It’s haunting. I mean, killing them is one thing but having them know it was _you_ , one of their best friends is even worse a thought to think of.”

Bormic sighed and flopped back onto the bed only to hit his head painfully against the beige stone of the wall. “Agh, Nine damn it!” He shifted and fell onto the pillow rather than the wall this time. “I try to have a time where I can just empty my sorrows, but all I get is this...” He rubbed the back of his head when he sat up a little more after a few moments.

“At least I found someone beautiful here in Skyrim to call my friend...” Bormic muttered, trying to keep it undetectable but vastly underestimating the noise of the main room of the inn.

“Beautiful?” Ralof let out another question into the world. His eyebrows were raised by then.

Bormic cursed under his breath, something about the might of Talos, before he looked over at Ralof. “Sorry. Poor choice of words on that one.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just unexpected.” Ralof said, showing a smile.

Bormic rolled his eyes a little. “Sure it was; next thing I know you’ll be running out the door.” He fell back into his bed and cast an arm behind his head to give him a little more elevation.

“Oh come on, I’m not like that and you know it.” Ralof said, standing up from his spot on the chair.

Bormic smiled a little. “You were when that Imperial merchant said he liked your ass.”

“That...” Ralof paused. “That was different!” There wasn’t much of a way out at that point. The path of least resistance was to just accept it and back off. “And what about you, hm? What would you do in that situation?”

Bormic shrugged visibly from the bed. “Honestly, I probably would have let him go on with it. Gender doesn’t mean anything to me. If I like someone, I like someone, no denying that.”

“And do you like me?” Ralof asked, resting a hand on his hip.

“Only if you promise not to kill me.” Bormic laughed. “Now, you mind getting our drinks? I fear that they might have been nabbed by someone else.”

Ralof gave a short nod and walked out of the room. At least whatever had been bothering Bormic was said and done so that it wouldn’t be of too much trouble. There were still things that weren’t discussed entirely but Ralof was figuring out the mystery, one puzzle piece at a time.

But an even better question was where their drinks went and what the name of it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you are. The answer to most of Bormic's past. I hope it wasn't too disappointing to any of you, and that the chapter was actually enjoyable, although it was a bit shorter than what I normally make.


	4. Mistaken or No?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, another small update with a long period of space between each update, yes I know how terrible I am with keeping a steady schedule. But here's an update to read your way through and to hopefully tide you over until the next update.

Bormic cursed, shaking his head and then bringing his hands to his face. _Oh Gods… saying that I liked my best friend was probably way too much. The expression he made after I told him to go and find our Matze certainly didn’t say that he was joyous to know that I liked him more than just a friend._

He groaned and he slouched even further into the bed. Maybe the problem would sort itself out, or maybe the problem would only get worse. Bormic hoped for the former, and felt that it would be that route that would be played but one could never be entirely sure. He was anxious to know how Ralof would act to Bormic for the rest of time and dreaded the path that was all too close to happening. Bormic closed his eyes and just prayed everything would go well.

Meanwhile, Ralof navigated his way through the swaths of people in _The Retching Netch_ like a ship’s captain in a storm, if Gjalund was a good enough example. The fact that his best friend liked him more than friends seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind, at least until he found their drinks amidst the large horde of people. It seemed as if there were hundreds of people there, and there very well might have been. Their drinks were long gone by the time Ralof recognized the spot where they had been at to order. Amazing how twenty minutes with shops closing and work days ending could make such a difference to a pub.

Ralof called over the bartender once more and crossed his arms before leaning on the counter. The bartender had his worse-than-neutral tone about him that seemingly all Dunmer shared, stopping a few meters from Ralof and waited expectantly for Ralof’s order.

“I’ll have two more bottles of your… uh…” He eyed the sign above the bartender’s head which showed the few drinks he was serving. One had the name ‘Matze’ and Ralof decided to get that, feeling the name was similar enough to what he had gotten before. “I’ll get two bottles of Mat-zee, I suppose?” Even Ralof winced as he completely butchered the name of the drink.

He flushed with embarrassment as the Dunmer grunted and got the two bottles and handed them over, holding his hand out for some pay. “It’s pronounced ‘Matze’, by the way,” the Dunmer said in a less-than-amused tone that made Ralof flush red even further.

Ralof reached into his coin purse and paid for the drink quickly and retreated into the horde of people, trying to forget his absolute butchering of the drink’s name. He should have remembered, but he didn’t and ended up paying the price of regret for it. The bartender had probably entirely forgotten about the incident but it still plagued Ralof’s mind. He shook his head at how ridiculous his brain was being, with it finally backing down for only a moment before throwing something else into his conscious; the fact that _Bormic_ liked him.

Ralof cursed into the crowd of individuals and tugged on his tunic to get a bit cooler. The thought of seeing him once more was even more frightening than anything else he had experienced, probably because, he admitted to himself and himself alone, that _he_ liked Bormic just as much as Bormic did him. That was one of the revelations he had had in the heart of Sun’s Dawn. He always thought of himself as a heterosexual, but for three months before that day in Sun’s Dawn, he had been having second thoughts on his sexuality. He liked Bormic as a friend but had been having increasingly prevalent fantasies with him and Bormic only.

But that wasn’t even the weirdest part. The weirdest part about it was that he actually… _liked_ them. He enjoyed it when it was just the two of them in one location or another doing something that a relationship would warrant. He shook his head clear and then made his way back to the room where they were before and opened the door to find Bormic lying on the bed, his eyes closed and was entirely still.

“You die of embarrassment over there or something?” Ralof teased.

Bormic grunted with a short yet powerful nod. “Mhm. I assume you found our drinks?”

“No, someone made off with them but I got new ones.” Ralof let Bormic open his eyes and look at his friend before Ralof handed the drink over. Bormic instantly began to drink from his while Ralof held back. It wasn’t that the drink was bad, he just didn’t feel like getting drunk that night. The hangovers were never worth it, anyways.

There was a silence between the two of them for a few moments before Ralof decided to speak up on something. _Maybe now I can learn his last name as well._ “You know, it just occured to me that you never have told me your last name.”

Bormic looked up from his jar of alcohol and set it down on the floor. “And?”

“You mind sharing?” Ralof asked politely as he sat down on the chair he was on before. It was still warm, oddly enough.

Bormic sighed a little before shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Bormic Thalynson is are my first and last names. Never felt the need to say my last name though, being a commoner and all. I never belonged to any House or anything of noble descent. Not like the Stormcloaks, for instance.”

“Thalynson?” Ralof raised one eyebrow.

“Aye. That is my last name. My father was named Thalyn and he felt the need to add ‘son’ onto his name and then make it my last name. Only recently after I came to Skyrim did I find out that it was actually commonplace to give your children a last name that had your own in it, with ‘son’ or ‘dottir’ depending on the gender of the child.”

“Thalyn doesn’t sound like a Nordic name, in my opinion.” Ralof added.

Bormic looked at him with eyes that said “obviously” all too clearly. “You’d be correct. My father isn’t Nordic… he’s Dunmer. And before you ask, no I don’t have a Nordic mother, well at least not the mother who raised me. I was adopted as my old family fled Morrowind to try a better life at Cyrodiil and avoid the Argonian uprising. Along the way, I may or may not have gone missing and was found by two Dunmer gatherers who took me in. I don’t remember life before living with my Dunmeri parents, honestly.”

Ralof frowned in sympathy. “Sorry to hear that. Must’ve been… unusual living with Dark elves.”

“Dunmer.” Bormic corrected brusquely. “And yes, it was a little weird. I learned some Dunmeri talk though, which was the explanation as to why I would always pause before greeting someone. My mind would constantly try and get me to say ‘sera’ rather than a normal Nordic word. I think I did better in Morrowind though; it hardened me to where I needed to be for surviving the wilderness and so on.”

Ralof nodded and gave him points for that. A smirk lined his face soon after as he teased Bormic even further than when he had walked in the room, saying: “I think we should get you a title.”

“Oh? And what would it be?” Bormic deftly grabbed his drink and began sipping from it.

“Bormic ‘the Man-Lover’ Thalynson.” Ralof admitted to himself that it probably wasn’t the best thing he could have come up with, nor too good a time to tease his friend.

Bormic shook his head to the heavens. “You _see_ the shit I have to deal with, Talos?” He turned his attention back to his friend. “If you really want to give me that title then go and knit me a rainbow scarf.”

“But I don’t know how to knit.”

Bormic smirked this time around. “Then Bormic Thalynson I remain.” He folded his arms over his chest as he said it. “Although, I probably would’ve looked nice in a multi-coloured scarf...”

They both chuckled a little before their enjoyment left and they sat in the room in silence. Neither of them made eye contact but it was all too clear that they were thinking about one another, and in Ralof’s case, how Bormic would look with a rainbow scarf accenting his Stormcloak outfit for better or worse. Maybe he _would_ learn to knit just to see that, he mused. It certainly would be hilarious to see Bormic stride up proudly to Ulfric and Galmar with a rainbow dyed scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.

Bormic returned to drink from his bottle while Ralof agreed with him silently, deciding to take a few sips of the unusually good drink. It was probably a good brew, but he couldn’t know as it was only his second taste of the same batch. Maybe that was the worst it got, or maybe it was the best it got. Bormic would know, but Ralof felt that he wasn’t much in the mood of talking as his friend sunk further and further into the bed and behind his bottle.

Bormic cursed and shook his head. “I must be crazy, but would you like to spend the night here in my room, Ralof?” The question was completely genuine, Ralof could tell and the question filled him with panic. One one hand, he liked Bormic and was willing to go through with it, but on the other it was the entire fact that he would be sleeping with his friend. It sounded just as crazy as Bormic thought it sounded, if his statement was any proof.

Ralof paused and then made his way to the door. “I… I need some time to think about it, alright? If I don’t make it back into this room, that doesn’t entirely mean ‘no’ alright?”

Bormic nodded once without words.

Ralof also gave a nod before walking out slowly into the horde of people once more. He might sleep with Bormic some time, but not that day. He couldn’t do it; not yet at least. In the coming weeks? That was an entirely different story…

Bormic cursed silently as the door closed and his friend walked out of the room. He knew it wasn’t rejection but he couldn’t help but feel that it was. Sinking lower into the bed, Bormic closed his eyes and tried to just hope that everything would be better in the morning.

_Maybe this trip was a mistake… or maybe it’s just what we need..._


	5. Before Noon

Bormic woke blearily without any signs of Ralof in the room. He sighed and decided that his friend had gotten his own room for the night. Whether it was because he didn’t want to or just didn’t want to disturb Bormic remained to be seen. Bormic stretched and groaned as he did so before he got out of the bed and realized he had both slept with his boots on and that he hadn’t even used a blanket; usually he needed both to be the opposite to sleep.  _ Probably just wanted to day to end so this one could arrive sooner… _ Bormic thought to himself.  _ I’ll go and leave early to see if the locals know of any place that’d be a nice travel to. _

Bormic opened his door slowly and looked out to see the entire place empty, save the bartender who was different from the one last night. Bormic assumed that since they’re open all the time, they had two bartenders who worked half the day each and did what they wanted the other half, probably do normal things that someone would do.

He walked past the empty chairs and tables, past the abandoned counter and the grumpy-looking Dunmer and then through the doors. The first thing that greeted him was the heat of the ash on the ground and in the air along with the constant dryness of the almost consistently still and dead air that he had known almost his entire life. The ash squished underneath his feet and Bormic couldn’t help but want the tougher coarse dirt that Skyrim had as it hardly ever got into his boot unless it was ripped.

Dunmer were walking about as usual, doing their normal things before it became too much day. It was around ten hours into the new day, or at least that’s what the clock set up in the city square would have him believe. All the shops were open including the blacksmith’s place which let out loud rings as his hammer struck the metal he was turning into a weapon or piece of armour. Bormic encountered several people going about their daily business and even more bartering and attempting to get food, jewelry and all other manners of goods that Raven Rock had, which wasn’t much.

Bormic walked to one of the several guards and the bonemold wearing Dunmer turned his attention to the Stormcloak and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, sera?”

Bormic felt a rush of nostalgia run through him as memories of his time in Ebonheart at the simplistic question. That was the city he had spent more time in than anywhere else, as the Imperials were more than hesitant to enter the largest populated city in Morrowind, their most autonomous country. Ebonheart had given Bormic some time to settle down and recuperate before he was off once more to go to Skyrim. He had even got the time to get a job and make some more coin before he had to leave once more.

Bormic blinked several times, mostly to get himself out of the wave of nostalgia but the fact that a small piece of ash landed in his eye was just as good a reason. “Know of any place worth visiting out in the wilderness here in Solstheim?”

The Dunmer remained unmoved behind his large yellow bonemold armour. “There’s a few places to the south which are good to visit, if you’re fine with killing reavers and being close to Nordic ruins. There’s also the upper half of the island that’s completely covered in snow and ice, which would probably make you feel the most at home outlander. There’s a village full of Nords there as well which make pretty good looking weapons and armour, just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Bormic gave a tiny smile to show his appreciation. “Thank you for the help.” He pressed a small coin purse with roughly thirty coins into the guard’s hand.

“No problem,” the Dunmer guard said with a little extra enthusiasm in his tone.

Bormic wondered if he should wear his Stormcloak armour in a place like this. It would probably do him better to have some other kind of armour, perhaps chitin? He shook his head a little and then walked over to the blacksmith’s shop roughly fifty paces away.  _ I don’t need any other armour than my best suit nor do I need weapons, I have an ebony axe and elven dagger after all. But maybe a souvenir wouldn’t hurt… _

Bormic walked up to the smith working away. The burly man glanced over his shoulder at the soldier and grunted. “Ain’t selling right now. Come back in a few hours and I’ll be happy to show you what I have.” He seemed a little grumpier than usual.

“Everything alright? You seem a little distracted, if I am any judge.” Bormic looked at the Smith with the best intentions.

The Smith sighed and his shoulders sagged as he took in a deep breath and then released it. “Not entirely. Damn Imperial over in the mines refuses to give my pickaxe back.”

Bormic frowned and his right eyebrow raised by half a centimeter. “Why can’t you just craft another pickaxe?”

The other man let out a huff and then shook his head a little. “Because it’s not just any normal pickaxe. It’s an ancient Nordic pickaxe; capable of mining Stalhrim.”

“Stalhrim? It’d be the first time I’ve heard that name before.” Bormic reached up and scratched his scalp a little.

The man chuckled. “Probably because it only is found here on Solstheim. It’s one of the toughest materials made. Think of it as enchanted ice capable of shrugging off a blow of anything made naturally. I don’t know what makes it, or who, but I can craft with it just as well as the Skaal up in the north.”

“I’ve never heard of the Skaal before.” Bormic said, prompting the Smith to speak of them.

The Smith did so. “Well you’re truly not from around here. The Skaal are a bunch of Nords who have kept their old ways from Atmora, I believe. They live in the northeast part of the island and it’s basically a straight walk to it once you reach the Bulwark and walk north from it.” The Smith sighed. “Now, back to your original question, I’ve lost my pickaxe. If you help out, I’ll make you something from Stalhrim and have it ready within four days.”

“Okay, I’ll get on that very soon.” Bormic turned and then almost walked off but one question held him back. “And the mine is where…?”

“Past the small farm over there and the alchemist on the other side of the road. Just follow the trail up to the rock wall and then you’re there.”

Bormic nodded and gave his thanks but stuck around just a little longer as he saw something strange on the door. He had seen stuff similar while back in Skyrim, with little markings carved into wood, some of them the same and others different. He had no idea what they meant and doubted he would find out what they meant. This one was one he hadn’t seen before, it was a triangle with a circle in the center of it. It wasn’t neat but he could clearly see the lines and what the dagger had created.

He shook his head and walked off, content with what he had discovered from the guard and at least a small part of his curiosity sated with the finding of the mark on the door. With a sigh, he walked back to the inn so that he could speak to Ralof if he was awake.

The insides of the inn hadn’t changed in the slightest from last time he saw it since all the tables and chairs didn’t have any occupants and there was little noise aside from the soft snores of people who had rented their rooms. Ralof was probably asleep in the rooms and if he had left in search for his friend, last night would probably be the last time that Bormic ever saw him; not that he was going to get lost or anything but Bormic and Ralof had shown themselves to not be the most skilled in finding… anything.

Bormic opened the door which he had learned was Ralof’s from the bartender and found him still sleeping there. There were two bottles of Matze lying at the side of the bed on the stone floor, one tipped over and the other one with the lid on and looked to be about half full. At least, that’s what he assumed was the amount of drink in the bottle. It was pretty difficult to see through a clay jar, in Bormic’s opinion and this time was not the day where he could look right through the opac material.

He closed the door after a few moments of looking at his friend who, he admitted to himself, wanted to go a little further with. He had been attracted to Ralof since almost the day he met him. He was kind, compassionate, hated the Imperials, and was a good soldier. Along with that, he was pretty cute, with his blond hair accenting him perfectly. The fact that he had kept it suppressed almost entirely up until the previous night was quite remarkable to him. Normally, he’d just flat out say it but he had been nervous this time around, he knew, as he said that he liked someone within a few days and that either made it or broke it. Bormic didn’t want to take that risk this time around and when he had found that Ralof was entirely heterosexual, that had made him decide that being more subtle about it was a wiser choice.

Maybe it would pay off in the end, or maybe it wouldn’t. Bormic decided that time would be the teller of that and walked into his own room before changing into his slightly modified Stormcloak uniform, complete with a white linen shirt underneath and twilight blue fabric that wrapped around the chainmail and leather suit. He then grabbed his favourite ebony axe and elven dagger, both of which he had gotten in Morrowind back before he was a Stormcloak and fastened them to his leather belt. Once he was sure everything was in order, he strode out of his room and back into Raven Rock’s marketplace.

Thinking about the night before, Bormic couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered what he had said about the rainbow scarf.  _ If I don’t get one from him, I’ll have to get one when I have the chance myself.  _ He shook his head clear of idle thoughts and got back to the matter at hand.

_ Time to go and get that pickaxe, I suppose. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a better pace than every 8-9 days, eh? I'll try to get as much done on this story as soon as I can, but sometimes the allure of gaming is just too much for me.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter and stick around for the next one.


	6. After Noon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and aren't getting too impatient with Bormic and Ralof (mostly Ralof though). I hope you'll all return for the next chapter.

At the strike of one hour after noon, Ralof awoke, woozy and not feeling too well. “Probably had too much Matze...” he muttered to himself, making sure that he had pronounced the name correctly rather than messing up like he with the bartender.

The entire room was silent as was the large room outside. Ralof frowned and wondered what time it was, hoping it wasn’t sometime too late but from the sounds outside, he decided that it couldn’t be. People usually drunk in the evening when work was over rather than during work time. Of course, there always was the lunch break. But that was either already gone or soon come, if the silence from outside the door was any indicator. Ralof groaned a little and got himself upright, grasping the side of the bed and one hand flew up to meet his forehead, making a soft _smack_ that echoed a small amount through the room. _Definitely had too much Matze… stuff’s more potent than I had thought._

After a few moments of getting his bearings and letting his head rest a little, he attempted to stand up only to fall back onto the bed a lot harder than he had wanted, jostling his head and sending all new sensations to it which put him in serious displeasure. Sometimes Ralof forgot just how much he _hated_ hangovers… He waited a few moments before attempting to stand up once more and found it to be a little easier, without him falling over like the previous attempt he had made. He stumbled his way to the door, hunched over and groaning a little with each step, face locked in a grimace. How Bormic managed to have a bad hangover like this and shrug it off like it was a tiny migraine was something Ralof felt he would never even grasp the answer to.

He opened the simplistic door slowly and made his way out of his room at the same pace as the door moved, which could be equivalent to a snail’s pace. He made his way to Bormic’s room and opened it, surprised to find him and all his armour and weapons gone. Everything else though, including his twilight blue cloak with golden filigree along its borders was still there though. Maybe he went to go and scout a few places out and then be back by the end of the day. Or maybe he had gone to do a menial task for someone, which seemed more likely. People always wanted something done by some do-gooder who actually knew which end of the sword did the stabbing. It was almost idiotic how much stuff some people want done for them that they can’t do themselves, but Ralof moved his attention to something else, mostly the fact of where Bormic had gone.

He could scour the markets, but in his hungover state, that only would make his headache worse along with him getting lost. It might not be as large as Windhelm, but it was still a city and cities were easy to get lost in. Ralof shook his head with a ghost of a smile on his face when he remembered his first time in Markarth along with Bormic. They had gotten lost almost as soon as they had walked past the inn, with each building looking the same just in different locations. The blacksmith’s hut was the one place where they had visited the most and the newly appointed blacksmith was kind enough about it, admitting that he too had gotten lost a few times when he made it to the city for the first time from the old farm he used to live on. He never explicitly explained why he had left the farm but Ralof had assumed it had something to do with family.

The blacksmith was very kind though, offering to give them a little discount for their first time to the city, with which they bought a few more weapons for the camp down in the valley which had taken ages to find. Ralof smiled a little as he remembered the kind Breton and shook his head to clear his idle thoughts as he went searching through Bormic’s belongings to see just exactly what he was doing. He found all the food that he had packed still there in its wrappings so he might not have gone scouting, but one of his larger coin purses was gone so he might have gone shopping instead. But that didn’t really explain why he had donned his armour and weapons, or maybe he had made two trips? One as a commoner ready to buy and the other as a warrior ready to fight? That seemed likely but he assumed he would find out when Bormic came back. _If_ he came back… Ralof gulped.

The idea of Bormic going missing wasn’t one that he was fond of, especially after his Sun’s Dawn revelation. He knew he had feelings that went deeper than friendship for Bormic, yet he felt a little to scared to act. It didn’t make a lot of sense, really. He had had no problems scoring women while fighting the good fight for his god, and he even had gotten into a relationship after the siege of Whiterun, although it didn’t last long. But somehow, the thought of just walking up to Bormic and saying that he liked him was an idea that made his forehead sweat, his heart rate increase and his panic to go far higher than he would’ve expected. He wondered just how long it would be before he would either have to man up and show his affection or back off forever.

Ralof knew it would only be a matter of time before that would happen, he felt it in his gut and usually that didn’t lie. It certainly didn’t lie when he was hungry or ready to vomit, that much was for sure. Sometimes it lied though and it had lead to more than bad situations. The worst it got was when it led the both of them into a cave full of frostbite spiders, to which Bormic and simply threw up his hands and walked outside and down the path from whence they came. It had taken about an hour before he caught up to Bormic once more, arms still raised and his weapon on his side. It was admittedly pretty amusing when he looked back on it, although he had remembered nothing but panic and anger towards the spiders and Bormic respectively.

“Oh, what’s this?” The most familiar voice Ralof had ever heard chimed from outside the door. “Have I caught a little thief going through my belongings?” Ralof could almost _hear_ the grin on Bormic’s face.

Ralof whipped his head around even though he knew it was Bormic, and he groaned and clutched his head as he realized his error. He _really_ hated hangovers… “Nope, you just caught someone in the middle of a day of pain.”

“Little later than the middle of the day, I’d say.” Bormic said with pursed lips. “Since when did you get up?”

“No more than ten minutes ago, why?” Ralof grunted through gritted teeth as he sat down onto Bormic’s bed in pain.

Bormic smiled, despite Ralof not seeing it. “Well, I had decided to take a little stroll around town and then helped the blacksmith get his pickaxe back. He ended up giving it to me and then also promising to make me something out of Stalhrim.”

“Stalhrim? What in the name of the Nine is that?” Ralof managed to look up at Bormic after some effort.

Bormic gave a little shrug. “Supposedly, it’s enchanted ice that is as tough as ebony. I asked for some gauntlets to be made for me. You can use them when you feel like it though.”

“When will they be done?” Ralof frowned a little deeper when he realized he was going back into the 'seemingly endless questions' routine.

“Well, the blacksmith said they’d be done within four days and he’ll keep them in his shop for us for a month before selling them. So, we’ve got more than enough time go do a little adventuring.” He paused and looked even at Ralof a little further. “After Mister ‘I drank too much Matze last night’ gets over his headache.”

Ralof glared at Bormic. “How you can act as if a hangover is nothing at all is a mystery to me.”

“And it will probably remain that way,” Bormic chuckled. He sat down on the bed beside his friend and laid a hand on Ralof’s shoulder. His friend visibly tensed as Bormic’s hand rested on his shoulder, almost as if he had just delivered a bolt of electricity through him. Bormic frowned, wondering what that meant but kept the question to himself.

Silence fell over the two of them and they remained that way as Ralof attempted to recover from his hangover and Bormic remained the one who would help him through it. It was the least he could do, really.

“So...” Ralof asked eventually, “have you found any places to go to when I’m better?”

Bormic dragged a few fingers through his beard to straighten the mass of facial hair. “Well, there’s a few places in the south we can go to and the Skaal village up to the north. There’s also a few places in the northwest I’m sure we can find if we were inclined to. Island’s roughly the size of Eastmarch so it should only be a few days to make it up to the north, provided we get a map and _don’t_ lose it in a river.”

Ralof glared at his friend again. “That wasn’t my fault and you know it. You were the one carrying it!”

“And you were the one who attracted the sabre cat who sent us into the river. Last time I’ll ever listen to ‘come on, let’s just kill one of those goats and roast it! I’m dying for some undried food!’”

Ralof crossed his arms and looked away. “I was dying from eating too much dried food though. Stuff’s far too salty for me.”

“So is Galmar’s attitude,” Bormic chuckled again and Ralof couldn’t help but giggle a few times, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he realized he could have chuckled as well.

Bormic didn’t seem to notice, and if he did he suppressed it very well. “At any rate, we have a lot of places to visit so promise me you won’t have any more Matze for today. Because tomorrow, I’ll be leaving to go and see the south part of the island and enjoy all the pleasures of home.”

Ralof nodded and flopped onto the bed and took off his boots, which he realized he had left on in the night. He sighed quietly and snuggled further into the mass of blankets, pillows and straw. Bormic smiled softly and patted Ralof’s leg a few times before sitting up and walking over to the doorway. “Want me to pay for your room for another night?”

Ralof shook his head sleepily, obviously he had plans to sleep off his headache which was normally the best way to do it. “No, it’s alright. I’ll take you up on your offer if you’ll accept it.”

“I will.” Bormic said and inched his way out of the doorway. “Be sure to allow me some room too though.”

Ralof grunted in acknowledgement that he’d have to move soon and snuggled even further into the bed. “Make sure to move my stuff out of my room or you’ll be getting a hunk of shit for your New Life Festival gift.”

Bormic let out a hearty laugh. “I’d prefer a rainbow scarf,” he told Ralof before walking into his friend's former room and moving his stuff.

_There may be hope for us yet._


	7. Time to Travel

The day after met the two soldiers sooner than they wanted but they obliged to it all the same. Ralof had gotten over his hangover and was ready to face the day, mostly. Bormic, meanwhile was entirely ready and was surprised by Ralof joining him in bed, to sleep only, but still. It was an improvement that he wouldn’t argue with. And honestly, he really liked the company of Ralof even if he was sleeping.

The day itself was as bleak as the yesterday and the day before that. The same ashy sky was visible with the beautiful blue sky in the distance to the north, even though they were heading in a different direction entirely. The ash was light underfoot and they continued on their path with little difficulties, while little vegetation made it easier to walk basically wherever the two warriors felt like. Occasionally bugs would pop out of the ash and try to attack them, mistaking them for easy targets only to end up lying lifeless in their path. The Netches were much better about the whole situation, not attacking the small party of two as long as they didn’t get too close. It seemed reasonable enough to all of them, although the younger Netches got a little curious and had to be stopped by the adults from approaching.

“You sure they won’t charge us, Bormic?” Ralof stated his uncertainty with the creatures he had never seen before.

Bormic gave a small shrug as part of his response. “If you don’t go around and patting them, then yes, you’ll be absolutely fine. If you _do_ go around patting them, see you at Red Mountain.” He couldn’t help but smile a little.

Ralof playfully rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but smile a little as well. “What about the young ones?”

“Their parents will keep them back, don’t worry. If the kids to approach you, just keep your hands raised and keep stepping back. The Netch are territorial and wary of outsiders, but they’re not dumb.” Bormic pulled his black steel shield up a little further as it was beginning to sag from his grip and threatened to plop into the ash and glanced down into his left hand. “I guess we should make camp soon, night will be upon us soon.”

Ralof looked up at the ash clouds and a single flake managed to find its way onto his eye. He blinked a few times and shook his head as if that would do the trick. Bormic knew what had happened, as he had the same thing happen to both him and his friends far too many times before. “How the hell can you tell if it’s going to be night or the sun’s just coming up? Every manner of light seems to be the same here.”

Bormic was sure that the ‘hell’ slipped in due to the ash flake hitting Ralof’s eye. “Well, when you’ve lived twenty years in Morrowind, you’ll know when it’ll be dark and the usual time of how soon or not it will be, depending on the seasons. Also, I brought a pocketwatch.”

Bormic stretched out his fingers to show the little golden wrapped clock that fit snuggly into the palm of his left hand. Ralof’s cheeks went rose red when he realized how silly his question was, seeing the little pocket watch in his friend’s hand.

After a few moments of silence, Ralof spoke. “Since when did you have that? I’ve never seen it on you in Skyrim.”

“I’ve had it since I had passed my tenth winter. I never use it in Skyrim as I can easily read where the sun is in the sky and tell the time; here in Morrowind though? I need the little watch.” Bormic felt a rush of nostalgia go through him as he remembered when he had first been given the little thing; the first thing he had ever been given the responsibility to look after. He had even bought a simple silver chain for the thing and wore it around his neck to keep it safe and to easily check it, when he had found the money to pay for it. “So, being past my twenty-seventh winter, I can safely say I’ve had it a little under two thirds of my life.”

Ralof let his eyebrows raise a little. “The first thing I was given to take care of, fully considered mine, was a little wooden sword that I used to hit bushes, branches and whatever straw dummy I could find or make. The little thing broke after a few years of use, but by then I was old enough to own my first dagger.”

“I imagine it felt like a full sword back then?” Bormic smiled, showing he was happy to hear about his friend’s life.

Ralof nodded once. “It did.” He chuckled a little before straightening himself out enough to speak. “I remember pretending when I was only a child with my dagger, I’d run off into the forests around Falkreath and pretend to find dragons and fight them. Little did I know, I would actually come across a few.”

“At least we’ve got the Dragonborn to stop the invasion, eh?” Bormic said, grinning. He had seen more dragons than Ralof had, yet he hadn’t lived through Helgen. Although, he _did_ live through the partial burning of Rorikstead when a golden-skinned dragon decided it was best to see the place go up in flames. “Would be ten times worse without him, that much is known.”

“Speaking of which,” Ralof said slowly, “do you think we’ll run into the Dragonborn and his companion again?”

“Well, like I had said, the island’s only about the size of Eastmarch so, probably.” Bormic said, taking a step closer to Ralof. “I mean, stranger things have happened throughout our friendship.”

“Would you count what happened last night as one of those stranger moments?” Ralof asked, he suddenly felt worried and anxious about what his friend’s response would be.

Bormic grinned. “You’re no stranger to me.” After a few moments but before Ralof could respond, he spoke once more. “...Yes, I would count what happened last night as a more unusual thing.” Another few moment pause went by. “But I don’t regret it, and I hope you don’t either.”

Ralof shook his head a little, enough that Bormic could see what he was doing and what me meant by it. “I don’t regret it either. It was… nice, in truth.”

Bormic smiled warmly and got a little closer to Ralof again. “Good. It’s nice to know that.”

About a minute of silence passed as they trudged on through the ash of Solstheim and passed a single Netch and her offspring, the latter trying to go off and see what the creatures that was close to them was with the mother holding it back.

Bormic stopped and eyed a single small island with three pine trees standing in it, defiant against the large mushrooms and ash that encompassed a lot of the lower half of the island. He walked about twenty meters until he stood at the water’s edge and looked at the island, thinking it would make a good campsite if it wasn’t for the fact that it was an island.

“You think that would make a good campsite, Bormic?” Ralof asked, walking up right next to where his friend was standing.

Bormic nodded, and then with no less than a second of considering it and what would happen next, Bormic gave Ralof a push that caught him by surprised, tripping over Bormic’s extended foot and splashing loudly into the water.

Ralof yelped at what had just transpired and kicked and spluttered as he pulled himself up, clothes already burdened with water that had turned his clothes into a sponge. He pulled himself up, glaring menacingly at Bormic who laughed hysterically and slapped his knee once, leaning over. Ralof jumped out of the water, well he attempted to, before he flopped back onto the ash with it sticking to his hair and face as he fell into the spongy ground. Bormic laughed even harder.

Bormic wiped away a tear and watched Ralof intently, trying not to laugh with moderate success, even though a few giggles made its way out of his throat at inopportune moments. Ralof, meanwhile, picked himself up and planned on giving his friend the same treatment, although Bormic bolted off ten meters as soon as Ralof showed signs of being able to get up.

Ralof laid chase to Bormic as the fellow Stormcloak ran off like a deer, running through bushes, past trees and giant mushrooms, and eventually up the slope itself, sending ash down onto his friend in hot pursuit. Bormic was much more agile than Ralof was, and being in his homeland gave Bormic a second advantage, with the third being the heavy water that Ralof was hauling around while chasing his friend. When Bormic made it to the top of the slope, Ralof looked at him curiously and felt any urge to throw him into the water dissipate as Bormic looked in the distance.

They both huffed and puffed for a few moments, regaining their breath so that they wouldn’t be breathing heavily too much while speaking to one another and to have the breath to hold a conversation in the first place.

“What is it, Bormic?” Ralof said after a minute or so, a little more gruffly than he would’ve normally, but it wasn’t normal for him to be soaked to the bone.

Bormic glanced at Ralof and then pointed out to a number of towers no more than five hundred meters away and then to the fact that the ash cloud was mostly gone and they could see the bright burning flames of the first stars in the twilight blue sky. Soft light from the fading sun glinted off Bormic’s mithril chainmail on his modified Stormcloak outfit and it was then that Ralof realized just how well suited his armour was for making him look like something one would see in a painting, in the sunset. It seemed that his outfit was made for a night like this in Morrowind.

Bormic then looked up to the sky and then back to Ralof. “I say _here_ is the perfect place for camp. You know, we went at least half a kilometer in chase, right? Look, the island is back over there.” His tone was practically blissful.

Sure enough, as Ralof discovered, the island that Ralof had been soaked at was extremely small by then and the trees seemed no more than twigs jutting up from the ash. “Wow. We’ve got a great view from here...”

The very top allowed the Red Mountain, towers which seemed Nordic in style and structure, the forest to the west and the shoreline to the east all in view, with mainland Morrowind being visible as well, just faintly.

Bormic smiled blissfully. “Yes. That we do.” Bormic went down onto one knee slower than he normally would, obviously savouring the time that he had in the sunset, showing off his armour that looked wonderful in the time of day. He slung his pack into the ash with a soft _ploof_ as the red flakes flew up, twirled in the wind gust generated and then were swept off to the east from a gentle breeze which had come in.

He pulled out a few pieces of firewood and set them onto the ground and then organized them into what looked like an unstarted campfire, then holding his thumb and index finger of his right hand together, he seemed to focus intensely. Within a matter of seconds, a sudden burst of flame sprung from his fingertips, catching Ralof by surprise, and then lit the dry wood, letting it burn and turn into a roaring flame.

“Since when did you learn how to summon flames?” Ralof asked.

“Yesterday. I practiced a little from a book I bought. I only know enough to summon a small flame though.” Bormic said with a light exhale. “Fortunately, my mother taught me a few things about flame magic when I was…” He paused with a frown. “Before the conscriptors came.”

“Well, it’ll be a handy skill to have, Bormic.” Ralof said with a shiver, the breeze making his dripping suit even more unbearable.

Bormic nodded once, sharply, and then gestured for Ralof to come and sit with him before pulling out a blanket and setting it onto the ground, doing the same thing with his twilight blue cloak and then sitting on his piece of linen.

“How will I get my stuff warm?” Ralof asked, taking off the light suit of straw-stuffed leather squares and moving on to take off the chainmail underneath.

“We have all night,” Bormic stated with a smirk. “I’m sure we can think of a few ways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, with every passing chapter, it seems that Bormic and Ralof are getting closer to admitting their feelings for each other. Well... Ralof, at least. I wonder how long it will be until he finally gives in.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter, the same as with every chapter.


	8. In the Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much better pace for new chapters, eh? Hope you enjoy this newest chapter, as is the usual.

The fire roared through the night, staving off the darkness. Most of the ash was gone and the flames of stars could clearly be seen in the distance along with Masser and half of Secunda, giving less-than-generous light down onto the world below. Five sticks had been set up as a rack above the fire, with Ralof’s soaked clothes hanging on it, drying slowly. His pack was leaning against one of the supporting sticks, full of his other clothes and other miscellaneous objects.

Ralof, meanwhile, was sitting in Bormic’s spare tunic which was roughly two sizes larger than he was so it sagged anywhere and everywhere. He only reluctantly kept his leather belt as he also had to wear Bormic’s spare pants which were about a size larger than what Ralof needed. It was like being a scrawny teenager trying out their father’s clothes. His mood said he was anything other than impressed with Bormic’s actions no more than two hours previous.

Bormic chuckled softly to show he was still in a good mood and held out his stick a little closer to the center of the fire to cook the Ash Hopper he got when out for firewood. The bug had just popped out of the sand and surprised him, although the next thing the bug knew, Bormic’s ebony axe cleaved through the insect’s brain killing it instantly. The meat, without the shell, was cooking rather nicely with most of it being a golden brown that showed it was good and delicious, at least if over-salted pork was any competition. The meat sizzled delightfully and it only made Bormic’s stomach rumble even more. Ralof seemed to have lost his appetite somewhere along the way to the campsite. He simply kept his eyes out to the shoreline watching the cold waves lap against the ash some forty meters below them.

“You finding out the meaning of life over there, Ralof?” Bormic asked with another chuckle. He turned the meat roasting over the fireplace and was thankful he had put on herbs as he was cooking it, otherwise the meat would be rather bland.

Ralof craned his head to look at Bormic and realized he had his hand holding his head up, a sign that showed he was deep in thought which, frankly, he was. “You know it my friend,” he said with a tone that showed it was sarcasm although the humor behind it didn’t entirely show itself.

Bormic grinned, making sure that Ralof saw he was in a good mood as well as hear it. “Something’s on your mind, I can tell. Mind sharing?”

Ralof shook his head. “No, it’s something I want to keep to myself for the time being. But who knows, in a few days it might be entirely different.” He looked back to the ocean and watched the waves wash over the flat, ashy shore.

Bormic raised his hand to show he was fine his friend’s decision. “Alright, if you feel the need to talk about it, I’ll always be here.” He paused and then added, “Well, not right _here_ but you know, in the general vicinity of you.”

Bormic turned the meat a little and cursed, mumbling something under his breath which sounded a lot like “Damnit, it’s burnt,”. Only the shuffling of his suit let Ralof know he was moving at all. Ralof sighed and then moved his hand, wincing slightly at the feeling of the cold breeze brush against his chin which was being kept completely warm by his hand which had decided to sweat a little. He stood up a few moments later and then walked over to where Bormic was and sat on the other side of the log his friend had hauled up after making the fire go. It was dry and relatively uncomfortable but it was better than sitting on the ash or the blanket Bormic had put down onto the ash before on the other side of the fire.

Bormic made no look of surprise as Ralof took a seat with him, fully focused on not burning any more of his quarter-charred Ash Hopper meat drum, which looked roughly like an oversized chicken leg. A few moments later, he pulled it off and watched it steam for a few seconds before attempting to take a bite only to burn his tongue on the food. He grunted in pain and then frowned and sadly pulled out a lipped sheet of metal with four legs that extended it up on the surface by four inches and set it onto the ash before laying the meat down onto the tray. It seemed wiser to him to wait a few minutes for it to cool down rather than obliterate his tastebuds.

Ralof watched his friend’s movements with minimal interest, more focused on trying to answer a simple question but one that seemed to have an impossible answer. _When do I tell him I love him?_ The thought had hit him like a charging bear while he had carved the sticks to dry his clothes soaked by no other than the man he loved. When would he, though? He could do it tonight, on the during the beautiful night. He could do it tomorrow, when they had planned to go and see what was in the towers: probably Reavers, but also loot of some sort or another. He could also do it in a few days when they planned to make a ring around and head up to the Skaal village. There were so many times that seemed right to him to admit his love, but when would he have the courage to show it and be willing to face what might happen between the two of them after…

Bormic was now holding the large ring of meat on the stick like it was the banner of the entire Stormcloak army and had already taken several bites out of it. “Want some?” It was the question which had shook Ralof from his thoughts.

“Yes, I think I do.” He watched as Bormic deftly grabbed the elven dagger on his side and moved the stick of meat so that it was right above the shiny silver tray before he began carving off a small slab of meat and then a much larger one for himself.

“That one’s yours, Ralof. I gave you a small one in case you don’t like it.” Bormic said through a mouthful of food. Several drops of juice made it into his beard and he rubbed them out with his fingers, which seemed as sanitary as entertaining to Ralof.

Ralof picked up the slab of meat and felt the juices run down his fingers and pool in the cups of his hands. He eyed the meat curiously for a moment before deciding to take a bite. The meat was juicy and tender from what he could feel, although without the herbs and the large amount of garlic put into it, it probably would’ve been as tasteless as one of Bormic’s stews. He could make a good, filling stew but have it with flavour? It seemed impossible for his bearded friend. It was practically falling off the bone, if it _had_ any bone. Ralof was surprised Bormic had managed to take the exoskeleton of the Ash Hopper at all, without ruining the meat inside it.

By the time he reached out to get more, Bormic was over halfway done his slab that he had cut for himself. Even more juice filled his beard and he knew Bormic would do something about it within the hour. He always hated stuff in his beard, which was completely reasonable in Ralof’s mind.

“Well,” Bormic said, letting out a comically loud belch which was as ungraceful as Galmar, “at least the thing had some taste to it, eh? You have no idea how many times I’ve had to eat bland ash hopper.” He shuddered and made a sound of disgust. “Let me tell you, never do it unless you’re desperate.”

“Is the large amount of garlic on it any better, though?” Ralof asked with a ghost of a smile lining his face.

Bormic had a look of mock appallment after Ralof said his sentence, hand held over his heart for added drama. “I can’t even believe you said that! Garlic is the best thing this world has ever seen!”

“And not you?” Ralof said with a smirk.

Bormic shook his head fiercy. “No, I’m just a simple soldier who has a couple dozen kills under his belt.” Seeing Ralof’s expression, he hastily corrected himself. “Couple hundred kills under his belt. The point is, I’m just a person who has helped a single cause, whereas garlic… Garlic’s been there for everyone. Garlic is certainly the best.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you protect a vegetable.” Ralof said, a smile lining his face.

Bormic grinned as well. “And I never thought I’d live to see the day I _had_ to.”

Conversation mostly shut down by then, with Bormic returning to eating his dinner before it got cold and Ralof going in for more, all while listening to the faint sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and the occasional mood ruining moment when the breeze picked up ash and sent it into Ralof’s face, or his food.

Ralof returned to attempting to answer his question and it made him wish that he didn’t have to deal with his hangover so he could ask the locals of interesting locations, even though he knew Bormic had also asked the same question. There was the rumour of the place with a mushroom the size of the Palace of Kings, and maybe he’d go and see that with Bormic. But showing your friend a giant mushroom wasn’t much of a way to show his love, Ralof knew. He wanted it to be special, in a good location and with good weather. Maybe the Skaal village would be able to offer that?

He shook his head. No, he wanted to express what he felt somewhere where there was no one else to make him nervous, just him and Bormic. Yes, that would do. Ralof decided it would be in the north with the snow and ice that Skyrim is known for. And then he could finally utter the words: “I lo”-

“What in Oblivion is that?” Bormic said, probably louder than what he had expected it to be. He was gazing out to the shore in a different direction than from Morrowind. This time, it was from the direction of Skyrim.

Ralof, realizing he almost said the words out loud, flushed red and then strode over to just beside his friend and peered out to the ocean with him, although his eyesight had been proven to be worse than Bormic’s by some amount. “What is it, Bormic?”

“Look,” he pointed with his right hand to a lone, dark figure coming at the island. It looked entirely like a ship. It was heading straight to the opposite shore from where there’s any sort of town, Raven Rock, and looked like it was going to beach itself on the opposite side of the island. “What’s that ship even doing here on this side of the island? Don’t they know there’s only one proper port on this island?”

Ralof peered at the entirely dark ship against the shining light of the moons and stars, reflecting across the water like streaks of diamonds. “It doesn’t seem like it. Maybe they don’t even have a map? Or maybe they’re damaged and need to make an emergency stop?”

Bormic shook his head. “I strongly doubt that, Ralof. The ship shows no damage whatsoever, nor is it slow or any of its rigging damaged. And look at the design, it certainly isn’t from around here.”

Ralof squinted and got a bit better sighting on the ship. He could also clearly see that it was no ship of Nordic or Dunmer design. It was too… elegant. The sails triangular shaped and held strongly against the wind, rather than a square sail and the entire hull had a different shape about it as well. Instead of the bow leaning forward like traditional ships, it instead was leaning back and it made the ship look entirely different than what one was used to. It was sailing right for the shore on the other side of the island and seemed no more than the size of a small carved model from the distance it was at. A very small model.

Bormic looked to where the ship was heading and saw a collection of mountains that jutted up from the earth, entirely dark with the light of the sky only being a fraction lighter which allowed him to see it. “It looks like they’re going to the center of the island.”

“What’s over there?” Ralof asked, although he knew Bormic had only assumptions as well.

Bormic shrugged. “We’ll find out when we make our way around, I suppose. I want to see what’s in those towers first though, if you’re alright with that.”

Ralof nodded and then sat down onto the blanket Bormic had laid out and looked at the flames of the fire, still looking as good as they were before. Bormic sat down onto the log on the other side of the fire from Ralof, and decided to have a little more ash hopper before he turned in for the night. His friend who was sitting down, fell into the blanket and stretched his legs out so that they’d get warm by the fire and they both decided to worry about what that unusual and foreign ship was doing and where it was going, for tomorrow.

Several minutes passed and Bormic was, too, lost in thought much like his friend. _Does Ralof even like me? He does as a friend, I know that much, but is he willing to go the full way and what happens if we do?_ It was nerve-wracking for him as he knew that if he messed everything up, he wouldn’t be able to recover everything easily. It was like building a town, Bormic realized; you can build as many building as you want, but eventually you’re going to want to make walls, towers and even a castle. But _when_ to make the castle and walls, was certainly the part that gave Bormic the most anxiety.

_I didn’t come here to be anxious or worried though, I came here to revel in nostalgia, see new things and explore with my best friend. And that’s what tomorrow’s going to be all about._

He blinked and cleared the thoughts that continuously showed up and then vanished once more. He eyed the stuff slowly drying over the fire and noticed a small amount of smoke rising up that came from a part of Ralof’s cuirass, well, the blue linen part of it at least. “Hey, Ralof,”

There wasn’t an answer, as Ralof had drifted off to sleep.

“Ralof!” Bormic said, louder and clearer than before.

Ralof bolted up and his eyes were open wide. “What is it Bormic?”

“You’re stuff’s on fire.” Bormic said, walking over to his pack to go and get something.

Ralof, meanwhile, got up within a fraction of a second and grabbed his stuff before throwing it into the ash and stamping it into the ground, trying to smother the flames which the ash seemed to do very well. Much better than the grass of Whiterun, the last time his stuff had caught fire after he had fallen into one of the many huge puddles that made Whiterun, well, Whiterun.

Bormic grabbed some water from his pack and then walked over to where Ralof was, calm and collected before pouring a bunch of water onto the clothes that were trying to do the exact opposite of being soaked again. There was a loud hiss of steam as the water evaporated instantly on the smouldering clothes and finally, Ralof settled down after a few more stamps of his foot. He picked up the ash-covered, once-again-soaked cuirass and grumbled, putting it back over the fire but much higher, also taking the time to adjust the other clothes that seemed to close to the flames for comfort.

Only then did Ralof settle down once more onto his blanket and go back to sleep.

Bormic mirrored his friend’s actions but went through the trouble of setting up his tent as he didn’t want any more ash on him than what already drifted down from the sky every so often, and removing all his armour, with only his cotton breeches and linen shirt on him, with his armour being placed near his pack. The last thing he wanted was to wake up as a pile of ash. He went out and grabbed his cloak and shook it several times to get rid of the worst of the ash and then laid it back down inside the tent before settling down onto it. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the days ahead, as he knew he would have to.

He was asleep before he could even decide on what to think about next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could take the time to go over to this little link and vote for something, I'd really appreciate it! (If you like Bormic and Ralof, you'll like this link, trust me: [ Just click here ](http://strawpoll.me/6688056) )


	9. The Three Towers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some combat in this chapter, so hope it's fine and all. It should be, but I have my doubts. There's also still the poll if you're willing to vote. I'll say 'thank you' to all of you who have voted in the first place; it means a lot to me.  
> [ Click Here for Poll ](http://strawpoll.me/6688056)

The day greeted Bormic much the way he had expected, ash-free and safely under his tent which had started to sag a little. Ash never let anyone escape when they slept, Bormic knew that all too well. He got up and pulled his cloak out as he escaped the confinements of his tent and saw the world outside. Most of the ash was back in the sky, but there was still a few patches of light blue that showed itself in the distance and right above them. Ralof was still sleeping, content in his cocoon of ash that had wrapped around him everywhere until he had rolled over, leaving small piles on either side of him when he had shifted, standing taller than the rest of the ash.

Bormic was quick to get dressed in his armour to prepare for any battle that might arrive at any moment.

The strange elegant ship seemed to be nowhere in sight until Bormic eyed the other coast a little further. The ship had indeed crashed into the shore and was facing it on the side, like it was supposed to be landed there. It seemed odd to Bormic that a ship like that would just crash into the side of an island without going into port, so either it had to be repaired from injuries that he didn’t know of or it was doing something against the law.

Bormic decided it was most likely the latter. He inspected the camp and found it was almost no different from last time he had seen it, with the fire smouldering in a pit of black charcoal. Nothing else of Ralof’s stuff had burned over the night but seemed entirely dry which was better than having it still soaking. He felt a little guilty about pushing Ralof into the water, but the reward seemed worth it and Ralof didn’t hold it against him as he was more than willing to talk last night. Although, what Ralof had been thinking about seemed really important to him and it made him a little nervous on what it could be. Maybe it was what was going on back in Skyrim, maybe it was something about what he was going to do here in Solstheim, or maybe it was something entirely different.

Bormic shook his head and cleared his thoughts from it all. He looked and saw the same three towers jutting from the ground. He also saw a few people milling about, but they were no more than little moving black dots in the distance with the bright red ash and deep blue ocean showing their location. He couldn’t tell if they were friendly or not and he decided to assume the latter instead of the former. A quick glance towards his ebony axe showed that he was ready to fight if need be, and it was almost preferable. He couldn’t deny the Nord in his blood yelling for combat, and he didn’t want to ignore it either.

He felt he was ready for more combat with a few weeks without it, not counting the ash hoppers that occasionally showed themselves. He wanted an enemy that could think beyond the word ‘survive’, one that would provide a challenge for him. And it seemed like his request would be granted sooner rather than later.

Ralof shifted a little and opened his eyes slowly and then moved his hand to find that it had a thin layer of ash over it. He frowned and then moved his hand again to shake most of the ash off it before he moved and did the same to his entire body. He got up as slowly as it took him to wake up and when he was up, he went to go and get his stuff.

“Good to see you’re alive, ash man.” Bormic chuckled, while Ralof shot him a glare. “You ready to go and hunt some Reavers?”

“Are you referring to the people in the towers, Bormic?” Ralof grunted as he tugged his armour off the sticks that held everything up, letting it collapse into the fire pit as he put everything he wasn’t going to wear into his dried out pack. He noticed Bormic’s tent and crawled into it for a few moments, leaving Bormic to just idly mill about much like the people in the towers.

When Ralof got back out, he looked much the way he did before Bormic had pushed him into the water. He tossed Bormic his spare clothes. “Here, you can have these back. I hope I don’t need them any more.”

Bormic chuckled at the memories and went over to his own pack, unbuttoning the large fur bag and putting the spare clothes into it at the top. He left the pack open and strolled over to his tent and pulled off the sheet of fabric and rolled it up, also putting it into his pack before kicking down the sticks that he had just gathered in the wilderness and left them there like the sticks used to dry Ralof’s gear.

When they were all ready and had a small meal of dried food which needed more garlic, in Bormic’s opinion, they gathered what they needed and left off in the direction of the towers, ready to face whoever was there, whether good or bad. The walk was with relative silence, as both soldiers were readying themselves for the battle that was most likely going to come. Bormic tugged a little further on his shield so that it didn’t sag and had a hand resting on the head of his ebony axe so that it could be ready to swing at an enemy in a moment’s notice. Ralof didn’t bother with shields, useful as they might be. He instead made sure that his warhammer was all ready to use in the time that they were walking.

Once they were about two hundred meters to the towers, they heard several people shouting and a few arms raise in alarm of people to defend against. Not more than a minute later, arrows began to fly at the party although they were horribly inaccurate, one shot going over twenty meters into the distance. It was a surprise that their shots were so inaccurate, and Bormic assumed they were using shortbows as a longbow would be far more accurate at the distance they were at.

Once they got close enough, Bormic raised his shield and Ralof did well to walk behind his friend to keep himself safe from the arrows as well. They could see the bandits clearly by then, with many of them being out at the bottom of the towers, ready to charge their enemy once their archers actually became accurate enough to possibly land a hit on them.

It seemed that the ideal time was when they were about one hundred meters from the towers.

Four of the dumber bandits ran out to meet their new enemies and take them down before they could kill anyone else. Once they were no more than twenty meters away, they slowed down to a walk rather than charge them, clearly seeing that their opponents were armed and ready for combat.

One of the bandits didn’t get the memo, though and he continued on and went for a slash against Bormic in the form of a downwards strike. Bormic swung his shield so that he could hit the weapon away and still have the weight of it continue, causing the bandit to stagger and get his weapon stuck into the ash, where Bormic quickly unsheathed his axe and cleaved the man in two. The other bandits, seeing their friend in two halves on the ground with a pool of thick crimson ash surrounding him, backed off a few paces and kept their weapons in a more defensive position.

Ralof broke that quickly as he came charging out from behind his fellow Stormcloak and smashed into his opponents shield, turning it into a pile of splinters and breaking the man’s arm, leaving him to flop onto the ground in pain. Bormic attacked swiftly after his friend against the other man on the farthest right side, bashing him with his shield and then swinging his weapon down while his opponent was dazed. The man couldn’t even scream.

Ralof turned and quickly finished off the man he had injured and then turned his attention to the final man who stood his ground although he showed that he clearly didn’t want to be there. Bormic swung his axe into the man’s weapon and cleaved it in two, similar to that of the bandit’s friend, and was going to let Ralof finish him off before the man threw his weapon aside and ripped off his belt with his dagger on it, tossing it at Bormic’s feet.

“I yield, I yield!” He cried desperately, hoping and praying to the Gods that he would be shown mercy.

Bormic delivered the man’s mercy by hitting him with the blunt end of his axe, enough to leave a nasty bump and knock him out, but not enough to be unable to recover.

They continued on through the towers, taking what they felt was valuable and either showing mercy to those who wisely surrendered or kill those who didn’t share the wisdom of their friends. When the entirety of the towers were cleared of both things worth more than a handful of septims at certain shops and enemies, they both rested for a bit, enjoying the food that the Reavers had made for their lunch which was now the two warriors.

“Why is it that bandits always think we’re a good target? They see us and decide to attack, despite also seeing that we’re experienced warriors and can hold our own. And those who see their best warriors cut down in front of us still think that they can take us out.” Bormic scratched his chin in confusion. “Is it just me or are all bandits morons who don’t know their own feet from their comrade’s?”

Ralof chuckled and took a sip of some Matze they had found within the towers. He knew not to drink too much as he didn’t want to suffer his way through another cursed hangover. “I don’t know my friend, maybe they _are_ just that stupid.”

Bormic let his head hang for a few moments. “I guess that comes with hanging around a bunch of criminals who kill for fun. They’re probably paranoid as all Oblivion that someone else will slit their throat if they have too much loot. Perhaps they’re just too crazy to see reason.”

“Never thought of it that way, Bormic.” Ralof said through his jar.

An unusual creaking noise echoed through the towers from a door that lead into the ash hill. Bormic and Ralof hadn’t decided to explore it since they didn’t like caves in the slightest. At least, not after their run in with the bears of the Reach and other more against nature beasts. Both Bormic and Ralof stood upright within a second and had their weapons drawn in only three more, ready to strike down whatever made its way out of the door. Most likely Reavers.

Instead, a mage and his companion made their way through the door and were as ready for combat as the two Stormcloaks were. Bormic recognized them instantly, as did the mage who could possibly be the man of legend. “Put down your weapon, Ralof.” Bormic followed his own order and sheathed his axe, even though Ralof seemed unconvinced they weren’t a threat.

Ralof still had his weapon mostly at the ready by the time that the mage and his companion had put down their weapons.

Bormic cast his eyes to the heavens and threw up his arms. “Come on, Ralof. Don’t tell me you’ve _already_ forgotten what the Dragonborn looks like.” He looked at the two others to confirm his assumption and the mage gave a light nod.

Ralof flushed rose red when he looked at the two and found Bormic’s statement to be correct. He really _had_ forgotten what the Dragonborn looked like, along with his companion. He blamed everything else on his mind to be the cause of that. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he slung his warhammer back over his shoulder.

The Dragonborn crossed the distance between them and clapped Ralof on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t come charging to crack my skull open so all is fine.”

His companion didn’t seem as compassionate towards the two soldiers than he was.

“So, what brings you down south, Dragonborn?” Bormic asked, wishing he knew the other’s name.

The Dragonborn smiled brightly and sat down on a nearby closed chest, it’s top flat. “Please, I prefer Thorlof.”

Bormic nodded once quickly. “Alright Thorlof. What brings you down south?”

The mage shrugged. “Well, I came back to Raven Rock two days ago after hearing about an old Nordic ruin within the mines and that’s why the mine actually was closed. I delved in there along with the help of Salet, and we cleared just finally made it out today.” There was a short pause before Thorlof spoke once more. “What about you?”

“Wanted to see the sights of Solstheim that reminds me most of home.” He let out a longing sigh. “We were also planning on going to investigate something else over on the west coast of the island.”

“What is it?” Salet spoke, surprising the three men. Her voice was deep like one would expect of a Redguard although it sounded almost noble-like, as if she had grown up around royalty her entire life.

Ralof was the one to answer the question posed by the mage’s warrior companion. “A ship. It isn’t Nordic or Dunmer and it’s beached itself in the night. If I could use only one word to describe the vessel, I’d say ‘elegant’ fits it right. And now that I think about it, it isn’t styled like any Cyrodilic ship I’ve seen.”

Bormic frowned and recalled the events. “If I were to guess, I’d say it’s elven.”

Thorlof nodded. “Well, I don’t think going to the west coast of this rock wouldn’t do much harm in my travels. And my offer still stands if you’re willing to come along. We’ll do some dungeon crawling every now and then, as is the way of an adventurer, but you’ll be fine. Plus, four of us can get a lot done.”

Bormic hardly had to think about the offer. “I’d be happy to come along with you, Thorlof. It’s not very often that you get to have an adventure with the Dragonborn, after all.”

Ralof joined in as well. “And I’ll be coming along as well. I feel we’ll be rather unstoppable if we’re all together in one party.”

Thorlof grinned and clapped his new companions on the back. “Let’s hope that’s the truth.”

Bormic and Ralof smiled warmly as well. Even Salet allowed herself a faint smirk.

“Don’t worry. It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, the Dragonborn and his companion join forces with the two Stormcloaks. Only good things can come from this, right?  
> And they're on their way to the north, which also means Ralof is going to have to prepare for the statement of a lifetime.


	10. Temptations

“See, there it is. The ship.” Bormic pointed in the distance, standing in the remnants of their camp from earlier in the morning.

Thorlof eyed the ship curiously. It was a bit difficult to see at the distance they were from the vessel, but he could clearly see that it wasn’t of Human design. It certainly had the air of elegance that Bormic and Ralof had explained, with it’s triangular sails and leaning front that looked like it could easily smash into the hull of another ship and puncture a hole that would spell certain doom for any ship, Barque, Carrack, Galley or Cog, didn’t matter which ship it was, it could destroy it.

Now that they were in the middle of the day with the sun beaming down onto the ship from one of several small patches of sky which the ash hadn’t swallowed up, shining moonstone and malachite could clearly be seen on the ship’s hull which only further declared that it was Elven and more importantly, Thalmor. The party of four eyed the ship from the distance they were at, knowing the ship and its crew would be huge if it was visible clearly from the distance they were from the ship, seemingly a Carrack.

Bormic was the first to speak up of the four. “So what are we going to do about the ship?”

“Well, you’d think we’d kill the crew and then dispose of the ship.” Thorlof said.

Salet decided to voice her thought of the matter. “You could always sell it to someone. Raven Rock might not be the most prosperous of towns but they’re still a few rich people within it.”

“And now you know why I bring her around, you two!” Thorlof laughed. “She’s too full of good ideas, and wisdom, to not bring around.”

“Just keep my pay good, merchant.” Salet smirked and drew her greatsword and stabbed it into the ash before leaning on it. “Although, I doubt I’ll be able to face against the Dragonborn with much success.”

Thorlof chuckled, and the two soldiers joined in.

“It’s good to see you’ve found yourself good company. I can say the same for myself,” Bormic said, extending a hand around Ralof’s back, lower than he would’ve expected but not low enough to be able to proudly declare ‘We’re in a relationship’. The feeling made Ralof’s heart miss a beat.

Thorlof nodded and smiled, while Salet gave Bormic a gesture of questioning and beckoning him to come over alone. He cast a short nod to the Redguard warrior and released his grasp on his friend and walked over, letting the ash muffle his footfalls. Ralof moved off to go and speak with Thorlof, most likely about the ship.

Salet walked about twenty meters away from the other Nords to make sure she was out of earshot, and Bormic followed silently. He didn’t know what she was going to do, but whatever it was, she didn’t want Ralof listening. She stopped at a fallen log that had long since died with a small stream of seemingly clean water, sitting on the log and gesturing Bormic to do the same. He obliged within a few seconds.

“What is it… Salet, right?” Bormic asked, unsure of the name. It felt entirely foreign on his tongue.

Salet nodded once and looked out back to where Ralof and Thorlof were, hunched over a rock with a map on top of it. “Are you and him in a relationship?” She paused for a moment before adding, “I mean, you’ve got subtle hints towards the whole thing and it seems like you’ve got something more.”

Bormic shook his head, not fiercely, but rather sadly. “No, we’re not. I wish we were, but Ralof isn’t ready. Maybe he will be in a while or maybe never, it’s rather difficult to tell with him.”

Salet smiled a little to help Bormic feel better. “Well, if he doesn’t go through with the whole thing, just know you’ve got a great friend with you. Don’t take advantage of him.” And much more quietly, she added, “And if you’re ever looking for some extra company if stuff doesn’t work out, I’m here.”

Bormic looked at her oddly, a mix of surprise and confusion. “Are you offering what I think you are?”

Salet’s smile gained a small sultry expression and let her hand stray to his thigh. Bormic’s breath hitched for a moment and then he settles himself down. “I suppose this answers your question, doesn’t it?”

Bormic nodded slowly. “But why are you offering? I’m not  _ that _ handsome, am I?”

Salet smirked and looked up back to where Thorlof and Ralof were, still planning their attack on the elven ship and those who were inside. “Well, you’re better looking than Thorlof, that’s for sure. And I’m not sure if you know, but he’s one of the most chastised men I’ve ever known. It’s like he doesn’t even have any genitals to do the deed with.” She sighed grumpily, her sultry mood mostly gone.

He looked at Salet with an expression of temptation and refusal. Finally, his better judgement stepped in and took the reins. “While the offer is tempting, I’d rather wait to have a definitive answer from Ralof on where we stand. If he says no, I’ll most likely take you up on your offer.”

Salet nodded and sat up from the log and Bormic mimicked her actions. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for. If he says ‘no’, you know where to find me.”

Bormic nodded assent and walked back to where the other men were, leaving Salet to make her way back at her own slower pace.

Ralof and Thorlof were huddled over a simplistic map of Solstheim that Thorlof had gotten off a Reaver he had killed in a camp a few days prior. It was tattered and damaged with most of the north smudged from what seemed, and smelled, like Matze. A section of the southern island, farthest to the west was ripped off with a small amount of strength, probably done on accident. The entire map also had scribblings of bands of other Reavers, including themselves so they had places to avoid and raid in.

Ralof pointed at the ship and then where they were on the map. “So from the legend over on the side here, it would take us no more than half a day to make it to the ship if we were going at a slightly-faster-than-normal pace. We have enough daylight to make it to the encroachment of rocks over here,” a small cluster of rounded stones marked the location, “and we can spend our time there until night where we can attack them and get them by surprise. I don’t suppose any of us are archers?”

Thorlof and Bormic both shook their heads. Thorlof was the one to speak, however. “No, we don’t. I know spells which are entirely long-range but other than that, I have no idea what we could do to pick the soldiers off.”

“We can always just attack normally. Doesn’t have to be all shrouded in stealth, no matter how nice it would be to have it on our side.” Bormic added.

“Sometimes I wish we could just summon the Dark Brotherhood to take care of them. Can’t really do that now that their Sanctuary was destroyed.” Thorlof said a little grimly.

Bormic frowned a little. “Don’t think so. I mean, they’re assassins. They’re not simply like a plant where if you take them out at the root, they’ll disappear completely. They’ll most likely branch off and find somewhere else, still performing contracts.”

Ralof agreed with his friend, who he was planning on having be his lover.  _ All in due time, like up north which we should reach in a week, or even less.  _ Just thinking about it sent Ralof’s pulse racing. “True. If you take out a den of thieves, that won’t stop them. There’s still plenty of thieves out there working who would continue on with what they’re doing.”

Thorlof backed down from his statement and got back to the matter at hand. “So, tonight we attack the ship and find out what they’re doing here?”

Salet arrived in time to hear Thorlof’s most recent statement. She gave her nod of assent as well as the two Stormcloaks.

Thorlof clasped his hands together and began to fold up the map before stuffing it unceremoniously into his pack. “Right then, we’re wasting daylight. Let’s get moving before we can’t execute our plan. And make sure you all pray to Lady Luck while we’re making it to our destination. We don’t need any casualties on our side any time soon.”

They all agreed to his statement and began to walk off in a path that deviated from the ship about one kilometer away from the actual ship itself, which was massive. It seemed unlikely that a group of four could take down such a huge crew, but there have been stranger things to happen. And if Lady Luck didn’t stir up any kind of shitstorm for them, they should be decent enough. Bormic remembered the last time he had fought Thalmor; they were warriors no doubt but nowhere near the level that he or Ralof were on. Or Galmar for that matter. And the tactics employed by the Stormcloaks didn’t do the Thalmor any good since the Stormcloaks attacked in bands and raiding parties.

They made it to the rocky outlook soon enough, as the daylight faded and the ash became heavier. They had a small meal of salted pork, stale flatbread and goat cheese roasted over Bormic’s tray and Thorlof’s flames rather than take the risk of setting up a full fire to be viewed by any who wanted to really see it. It was rather good in an unusual way, and they all knew if the food had been fresh it would have been all the better than what they had with them. By the time they felt it was ready, it was two in the morning and the patrols were mostly gone from what Thorlof could sense using one of his extremely powerful spells of detect life.

They all got their gear on and prayed to their Gods before going and take an end to the Thalmor who decided it was best to invade Solstheim, as they all had one thing with the elves.

They hated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than normal, I know, but it's still good, at least. I hope.


	11. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter. I was busy making Valentine's Day stories rather than working on this tale. Things should start returning to normal now although I will say this; don't be surprised if there isn't a new chapter in the usual three days.

He looked on with boredom, gazing out into the night lazily. The entire surrounding area was dark and he couldn’t see anything aside from the flickering torches on board the ship. A few others moved around in the dark, wishing they could be doing something else but that didn’t matter to the Captain or the Officer out in the camp some two kilometers northeast so people couldn’t find it easily. It was in a spot that was low to the ground and wasn’t very big in area so it was difficult to see from a distance.

The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and rocking the ship masked all other sounds, even the heavy snoring from the soldiers on the ship. While the bulk of the army had gone further inland to the camp at the Officer’s orders, there was still a decent enough group of fifteen soldiers at the ship so that Reavers couldn’t get a hold of it and sail off with it. it wouldn’t have done the Thalmor good at all.

The soldier making his rounds on the ship never heard the party of four sneak their way onto the ship and never expected the dagger to plunge through his armpit and stab into his heart. He fell away lifeless and clattered against the deck with the loud crash of the waves masking the sound. Bormic pulled his dagger out of the dead elf and moved on to the next with Ralof and Salet moving different directions to take down others on watch. Only Thorlof stuck with him, as he wasn’t trained in any sort of fighting with weapons. His ability to use spells made him invaluable, however. Thorlof cast a small spell of detect life and found that there was hardly anyone here. He frowned but didn’t speak to Bormic so that he didn’t blow their cover.

Surprisingly, Bormic wasn’t half bad at crouching and making little noise. Thorlof had expected a big, bulky man such as him to make a lot of noise as he moved but his footfalls were mostly silent and the ones that were louder than usual were masked by the waves crashing against the ashy shore. Thorlof and the rest of the party thanked the wind for providing their cover. Bormic made it to a second elf and took the same action on him that he did with the first and silently ended the “superior being”’s life with pleasure. How they thought they were superior when a single stab of a dagger could end their life just as easily as a Human’s, was beyond Bormic. All he cared about was making sure the bastards were dead so they couldn’t spread their false beliefs of Talos. If the elves had even heard the tales of the Champion of Cyrodiil, they would know that Talos was as true a god as Akatosh.

The second elf fell to the ground as quickly as the first and made even less noise. Bormic looked around and saw that three other sentries were down, which was nice. It surprised him the most to find that Salet could be stealthy even more than he was with himself. He wore armour that generally didn’t make much noise with it being rather light, especially with the chainmail being made of Mithril rather than steel. Salet meanwhile wore full heavy armour made of the bones and scales of dragons with a huge greatsword on her back. She didn’t bother with a helmet, like the rest of them aside from Ralof. He wore his silly little hide helmet with little spikes on it that served no purpose. Bormic and Salet had agreed that they didn’t really see a point in helmets as they did little to nothing to hide damage sustained. And they blocked vision which is the most crucial thing in any battle, aside from skill.

Once the deck was cleared, they all met up in the middle and spoke in hushed voices.

“Okay so we’ve taken down the sentries, what now?” Ralfo asked in as silenced a voice he could so that it wouldn’t be carried off by the wind yet wouldn’t wake or disturb anyone else than who it was meant for.

Thorlof scratched his chin and Bormic flexed his muscles a few time to loosen them further so that he was ready for any battle that might come their way. “Well, we should descend to the lower parts of the ship so that we don’t have to worry about anyone else showing up and sounding the alarm.” The voice was Bormic’s.

“There’s no need,” Thorlof said, “as they’re all asleep. We can easily make it into the Captain’s quarters and find what they’re doing here.”

Thorlof hadn’t lead them wrong so far, so they decided to follow his word once more. They all made it to the door that they assumed lead to the Captain’s room as it was more fancy and intricate than the others. They studied the lock for a moment before Thorlof put his hand only a few inches away from the chest and then cast a small spell and unlocked the door without difficulty. When everyone looked at him surprised, Thorlof smiled and raised his hands. “Hey, Cyrodiilic magic is just as powerful as the magic from Skyrim in many aspects.”

The door swung open without a single creak, signs that the ship had well-oiled hinges which made it all the better to sneak around. When they opened the door, they found the Captain snoring on his bed with his extra fancy armour on a stand beside the bed made of mahogany wood with pillars and beams that went to the roof of the luxurious room. It looked better than Ulfric’s bedchamber in the Palace of Kings, which was probably the fanciest thing Bormic had ever seen.

A quick stab of Bormic’s dagger ended the life of the Captain swiftly and allowed them to walk around the room with less caution. They went through various dressers and drawers before they found what they were looking for, the entire purpose of them being there. It was a small document with a seal one would recognize as the Aldmeri Dominion. Bormic quickly ripped off the wax seal and began to read the note.

_ Don’t forget your mission here, Captain. This is the last chance to redeem yourself after your last failure. I expect this ship to return to the Isles by the twentieth of Sun’s Height. Remember, your goal is to find Stalhrim and bring it to the Dominion for further study. The more, the better, as I’m sure you’d know. Can’t let the Empire nor those rebellious filth the Stormcloaks think they have any kind of chance against us. _

Bormic folded the parchment and placed it in his coin purse. It wasn’t the best place to store it he knew, but it was better than anywhere else. If they were here for Stalhrim, that wouldn’t be good at all. Bormic remembered how Stalhrim was as powerful as ebony and if the Thalmor had access to it, that wouldn’t be good for the war effort or any kind of further attack from the elves. He looked back to the others in the group and spoke hesitantly.

“They’re searching for Stalhrim.” He looked across the faces of people, Thorlof mostly confused, Salet uncaring and Ralof in horror. “It’s enchanted ice,” he explained, “which has the strength of ebony. No one knows how it’s made but it’s said to be extremely powerful and can be crafted into powerful weapons and armour. If the Thalmor are trying to get it, it won’t bode well for getting Skyrim it’s freedom.”

Salet looked uninterested still. Ralof’s look of horror had been tamed a little but it still showed definite fear of that becoming a reality. Thorlof had also adopted a look of terror, as he knew the Thalmor didn’t like him nor Skyrim trying to be free.

Bormic looked directly at Salet and spoke grimly. “Hammerfell wouldn’t stand a chance to see itself independent either, Salet. And all of us know that Hammerfell will attempt to break free within the century if Skyrim becomes free.”

“ _ When  _ Skyrim becomes free, you mean.” Ralof corrected his friend.

Bormic nodded in agreement. “Yes,  _ when _ Skyrim is free.”

She frowned and nodded but otherwise didn’t show much emotion. It was a stark contrast compared to how she had been with Bormic while they were speaking in private.

“Then I suppose we should kill the rest of the crew?” Thorlof asked the two Stormcloaks. They would know more than him on how the rebels went about things.

They both nodded. “Yes, the less Thalmor there are that we have to fight the better. And if we can stop them from getting Stalhrim, even better. The last thing we need is the elves getting another advantage on us.”

They made it back out of the captain’s quarters and breathed in the fresh air of Solstheim. It felt the best to Bormic, like he was completely home back in the small little village he had grown up in. He looked around and then stopped and got everyone’s attention at what he saw. It was light in the distance, some ways inland. It was easily large enough for a medium sized camp and he could see the aura of brightness radiate from the location. The spot was some distance from the ship but it was still completely in sight. 

“Any of you seen that camp before?” He asked, pointing the to location and then looking at the faces of his companions. All of them shook their heads.

“It wasn’t on the map we had gotten. Maybe it’s from the Thalmor? There’s a lot less people on the ship than what it would take to sail this thing, I know that much.” Thorlof added. “Doesn’t seem all that friendly, does it? Even the way it carries itself doesn’t seem like it has good intentions.”

“Maybe we should go back to Raven Rock and see if we can get the guard to help take it down?” Bormic offered. “I know Morrowind; it’s the most autonomous state of the Empire with the Houses here having more control than the actual Empire does. They dislike the Thalmor more than they dislike the Empire.”

Salet spoke up. “I think two of us should stay out here and keep a watch to make sure that no other soldiers can leave and alert the camp while the other two search for more evidence to prove that the camp is indeed Thalmor as you all seem to think.”

The men gave nods and gestures to say ‘ _ Well, she certainly has a point’ _ before Ralof and Bormic claimed they would find the evidence and let Salet and Thorlof overwatch the surrounding area to make sure the camp couldn’t be alerted.

Bormic and Ralof almost flipped the entire ship upside down while they searched, going through chests and drawers and clothes and stacks of paperwork and a wine stash, to which they drank a fair bit of, and all manners of locations in the cabin before they finally found what they were searching for. The note wasn’t nearly as fancy as the more formal one from wherever the ship had sailed from but the calligraphy was just as good in terms of quality, although a tad smaller which helped its overall neatness in Bormic’s eyes. It was simplistic and short but provided everything Bormic needed to see that the camp was indeed of Thalmor origins and housed the bulk of the ship’s population.

Bormic walked out with Ralof and showed the letter to Thorlof and Salet, the latter finally believing the party. But they all knew that Salet had enhanced how Bormic’s idea would play out. They’d get the Dunmer to help fight the Thalmor and then could easily blame the Reavers that seemed more abundant than ash hoppers, and as Bormic assumed, had about the same amount of brains as the giant insects.

“I suppose we should leave here and make our way back to Raven Rock now then and do something with the dead. The last thing we need are these Thalmor being on high alert.”

“Agreed.” They all said in sync.

“Then let’s get on with it; the sooner it’s done the better after all.” Bormic said as he walked over and grabbed a body before throwing it overboard and into the ash, hearing the muffled plop as it sunk deeply into the ash. “Don’t worry, by sunrise, the bodies will be entirely covered provided none of them are stacked on top of one another.”

“I don’t think I want to know how you know that bit of information,” Salet said as she began to do the same as Bormic.

“Trust me,” Bormic sighed. “You really don’t.”


	12. Time Management

The walk back to Raven Rock was seemed slow but they all knew they would be there within a few days at the pace they were going. Provided, they were mostly going at a quick jog most of the time. Salet seemed to be the only person who was truly arguing about the pace, most likely due to the fact that she wore the bones and scales of dragons as armour. And folding the armour up and stuffing it into her pack and wearing regular clothes wouldn’t do her much better, they all knew. So, they all had slowed their pace down a little to compensate for Salet and her ridiculously heavy yet protective armour.

The few days they spent running around the island back to Raven Rock was rather exhausting for everyone save Ralof and Bormic. They were the only two people who actively spent their time running around all over the country, through its various holds to get from one spot to the next in order to help with the war effort. Why the other two had much less endurance than the two Stormcloaks always left them wondering, although they never asked.

They stopped at camp somewhere close to the shoreline where they had been before they had left in search of the ship, looking back at the mountains and waves as they seemed to crash against the mountains themselves. Sometimes, they actually did. The wind had picked up during that time and a lot of the ash from the mountain of Vvardenfell was being swept away, showing actual clouds carrying rain instead of the huge amount of ash.

Bormic sat in camp a little away from everyone else while they all enjoyed a simplistic card game involving five different types of cards and a small number of rules. He liked the game but he decided to sit that one out as he had lost too many coins of his own to the game.

He pulled out his own map and traced the path that they had taken with his finger, going across the western coast and etching on the days off on the side in simple lines. When he hit six, he would cross off the group and then start anew. Currently, he had one full group of six and two starting the third one. He frowned as he stared at the map intently, marking how long it would take to see all the places he wanted to, such as the giant mushroom building called Tel Mithryn on the map and the Skaal village and the farthest path up north. Of course, they had gone almost to the point of where they wanted but not quite there, as the Thalmor had been their goal and Bormic had to wishes to take him or his friends through hostile territory.

The total amounts of days he felt it would take to see everything he wanted to and stay the certain amount was another eighteen days once they made it back to Raven Rock. They had little time to do what Bormic wanted, as the ship back would be roughly four days as Gjalund had explained sometime during the voyage. They had one free day left in the time and that would be saved for anything bad happening along their trip across the island. He remembered what he had said to Ulfric and Galmar along with Ralof back then and his promise.  _ Be back here by the eighth of Second Seed. That’s when the assault of Solitude will take place.  _ Ulfric's words rung in Bormic’s ears like the hourly bell that had rung in the city back in Morrowind where he had sought refuge for a month or so in order to make more coin to complete the trip to Skyrim.

They had twenty-three days left entirely and he wasn’t sure he had the time to make it to everything he had planned and hoped for. Maybe they could get the guard to help them and then route back and go through Bormic’s planned path in the opposite way? From north to south? Bormic’s frown only increased. It was a two and a half day's worth of walking at the pace they had been going. Anything slower and it would be more and that would shave off precious time that they just couldn’t afford.

Thorlof sat down beside Bormic and looked in the map and noted the markings of Bormic’s less-than-neat writing ability. “What’s all this then, hm?”

Bormic jumped the slightest bit at Thorlof’s sudden intrusion into his thoughts and planning. “Well, I was planning out what I’d do with the remaining eighteen days Ralof and I have left on Solstheim. I mean, we still have a war to fight after all.” He sighed. “I’m not sure if we have the time to fight the Thalmor on the island. We’d have to get the guard immediately and then fight the camp and ship all in a matter of three days if I can squeeze everything in.”

Thorlof frowned as well. “I don’t think we have enough time for that. The guard would be entirely willing to help us but I don’t think they can go at the pace you two can and for as long, plus they still need help with the ash spawn that have been rising up in the outskirts of town.”

“Ah, right. I heard a few rumours about the ash spawn. Do you know of any way to stop them quickly?”

Thorlof nodded. “All we have to do is go into Fort Frostmoth and fight the wizard that’s hiding in there.”

Bormic traced a line from Raven Rock to Fort Frostmoth. “That’s at least four day trip, there and back with all the fighting included. I really don’t think we can squeeze in that much time for our schedule. The siege of Solitude is happening on the eighth of next month, and there’s not a chance that I’ll miss it.”

Thorlof’s frowned got worse and his brow creased. “Hm. Well, maybe you could go and enjoy the next eighteen or so days when we make it back to Raven Rock. Salet and I with a number of guards could go and scare off those ice stealing elves, or preferably, kill them all. You two can enjoy your time here.”

Bormic’s eyebrows went up at the offer. He hadn’t really considered that the Nord would offer, but it made sense really. The Thalmor hated the Dragonborn as much as the Stormcloaks and he only assumed the feeling was mutual. Turns out, his assumption was correct. “I really don’t know how to thank you for the offer. I’ll be in your debt, really.”

Thorlof shook his head, a smile growing on his face. “No need. I’ll be happy to kill those damnable elves. I hope Sheo gets ‘em some day, but with how they think they’re so superior in every way, I think he already did. They hate me more than they do Stormcloaks, you know, and they’ve caused me and Salet no small amount of annoyance over the time I’ve held the title of ‘Dragonborn’.”

Bormic was completely smiling by then. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can thank you enough, really.”

Thorlof smiled and looked at Bormic directly in the eyes. “What you can do to repay me is win that siege for Solitude and set Skyrim free, like it was meant to be.”

Bormic nodded and swore on his ancestor’s honour and on his own that he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, no matter how short it is.


	13. History Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains the smallest amount of spoilers for 'When in Cyrodiil...' and my second novel in the series, 'After the Rights of the Mind...' so warnings for that. Other than that though, enjoy!

“Wait, so you’re telling me we have to go in there?” Ralof asked, peering through the door of one of the three towers they had been at several days previous. The places looked just like how it had then as well, save for less people about and a lot more of the true stench of death all about them. The still air inside the crypt wasn’t something that Ralof nor Bormic really indulged in ever since they had their first taste in Korvanjund where they had fought both Imperials and draugr alike. Hell, it still sometimes gave Bormic nightmares. Even the idea of being trapped in your decaying body for thousands of years… he shuddered at the very thought.

“Yes,” Thorlof said, walking in while Salet followed only a meter behind him. “And be wary, not all of them are dead.”

Ralof and Bormic both shuffled away from the door a few paces. “You mean… there’s still draugr _in_ there?”

Thorlof nodded with a chuckle. “We may or may not have been overwhelmed by them and had simply run past and barricaded multiple doors to take a break.” He smiled weirdly and shrugged. “After one of them nearly cleaved my head in two, I didn’t want to be anywhere near them. Gods only know how I will be able to go in more to find those Words of Power the Greybeards keep sending me to find.”

“Don’t forget the Blades, Thorlof,” Salet said curtly. “And we still have to go off to Hammerfell and find… uh… what’s that Blade’s name?”

Thorlof shrugged. “It started with a ‘c’ I know that much. Other than that,” he held up his hands in defeat, “I don’t know.”

Bormic cursed internally at the fact that they had brought on questions that his brain was trying to answer. Now it seemed that his mind just _had_ to know the answers it was seeking. Human curiosity was more a curse than a blessing, sometimes. “Why do you have to leave the province to find a Blade?”

“Well, she’s said to have skills that is better than anyone else, save the Champion of Cyrodiil. You know he’s gone down in legend as a master swordsman and the Divine Crusader, right?”

Both Ralof and Bormic nodded. They knew the tales well; the Champion of Cyrodiil, whose name has been lost to time unless one had a book, saved Tamriel from the Oblivion Crisis and then went on to become the most renowned warrior on the continent after becoming the Divine Crusader, blessed by each of the Nine to defeat an ancient threat or something like that. Of course, there were books that had been written of the tales by the Champion himself, but they were all stored in spots that they couldn’t get to. They were far and few between and if you got your hands on them, they could easily sell for over twenty thousand septims bare minimum, mainly because the man had only ever written them himself using only quill, ink and parchment rather than a printing press.

Thorlof continued. “Well, that particular Blade is rumoured to be only a small bit worse at combat than him. If we had her on our side, the Dragon threat would be much easier to complete. How she got as good as a legend such as the Seventh Champion, however, is beyond me and everyone else. Of course, we only have speculation to go on, since the Seventh Champion died some hundred and sixty years ago on his seventh decade of life. At least, I think so. The books of him written by others didn't really state when he died.”

“Sounds like this Blade you’re seeking is someone who an Emperor would love as their personal bodyguard.” Ralof said thoughtfully. “Especially since the Blades were known as the Emperor’s bodyguards in the past.”

Salet chimed in. “We know. We had said the same thing awhile back when he had gotten the information from Esbern, some crusty old Blades scholar or something akin to that. He said it was because she said she would only serve a Septim. But, it’s rather hard to believe considering the last Septim died over two hundred years ago. Supposedly, she’s now more mercenary than Blade.”

Ralof looked at Salet oddly. “Only serves a Septim? How could she possibly serve a Septim? Unless… well, actually it makes sense that she’s a mercenary.”

“How so?” Thorlof asked.

Bormic knew what Ralof was getting at and finished it. “She only serves a Septim. Another name for a coin is a ‘Septim’. So, in other words, the only was she could serve a Septim is to be a mercenary.”

“Ahh, I see.” Thorlof couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Yes, that makes a lot of sense.” Even Salet allowed a smile.

“But wouldn’t the Imperials in Hammerfell stop you?” Ralof asked.

Salet shook her head. “Hammerfell nobility is what makes the guards, trains the soldiers and rules over them. Of course, Hammerfell also has a Legion stored within it but it’s the nobility that controls mostly everything.” She cleared her throat with a strong and singular cough. “Hammerfell is very similar to Morrowind in that respect.”

Bormic grinned. “Well, when you’re done fighting dragons, let that Blade know we could always use her for fighting the Empire.”

Thorlof shook his head at that. “I don’t think so, friend. Esbern, as odd and mentally unstable as he is, said that even though she hated the fact that the Empire surrendered and won’t fight for them, she won’t fight against them either.” He paused and then added before either Ralof or Bormic asked their next question, “Esbern is mostly known to be correct on matters on the Blades, especially the second most renowned Blade in all of history.”

“Who was the first?” Ralof asked.

Salet cut in and answered the question before Thorlof could. “The Seventh Champion of Cyrodiil.” Seeing the look on Ralof’s face, she smirked. “What? You think someone like him would just pass up being a Blade? It’s a very prestigious role and it made sense. He swore to protect the Emperor, undertaking the same oath that the other Blade, the one we will look for eventually, that he would serve only Septims or something and after Martin died he was released from his bonds.”

Salet spoke as well. It was odd that she only decided to speak at some times and when she did so, it was rather emotionless, unless it was with only her and Bormic in the general vicinity. “You know, there were rumours that the Champion was offered the position of Emperor but turned it down.” She shook her head and with a small smile on her face. “Can’t imagine why, I mean, he could’ve done anything at that point.”

Thorlof frowned and shrugged. “His books said he didn’t really want to be anything more important than a simple hero. He even accepted the Champion of Cyrodiil title reluctantly, his books said.”

Ralof looked at him quizzically. “And how do you know it’s accurate?” Bormic realised by then that Ralof didn’t know about the books or the contents within, which made sense. Bormic himself had only ever managed to read the first two chapters. Something then tickled his mind, revolving around the Blade and the story. There had been a Blade that had bested him in combat by that time he went to the old Blade citadel, and her name had started with a ‘c’.

Thorlof laughed when he realised the same thing Bormic did with Ralof’s very limited knowledge on the fact. “Well, let’s start with the fact that the books are written by the man himself, by hand, making each copy unique, as words aren’t in the same places and there are different sentences in different spots in each story. And each little error also makes it unique, I mean, one man can’t simply find all the mistakes in a single novel. But I would say that’s pretty damn accurate.”

Ralof looked away, his face turning a deeper shade of red each passing second. Bormic only hoped the colour never could be called ‘burgundy’.

Bormic decided to take some of the attention off his friend. “Do you have any of the books on you, Thorlof?”

Thorlof’s eyebrows raised. “Me? By the _Nine_ no!” He hastily added, “Of course, I’d _love_ to have a copy of _When in Cyrodiil…_ and _After the Rights of the Mind…_ but they’re far too expensive for me. I could never even haul around the amount of gold required to buy one and counting it all would take a literal lifetime. I only read the two stories in the Arcane University when I was but a student there, before classes became far too extensive for me to read on the side.”

Salet decided to add in her own statement. “I would reckon there’s a copy of each in the College of Winterhold as well, if you wanted to make it in, Thorlof.”

Thorlof grinned at Salet and clapped her on the shoulder. “I would assume they do. I mean, they have the most extensive library of books aside from the University in Cyrodiil. Even the libraries of Mournhold and High Rock can’t compare.”

“And the elves want nothing to do with either book since they both are considered heresy by them, for their content. Both of them confirm the existence of Talos and show he’s as true a God as Akatosh.” Thorlof finished off what Salet had said.

Bormic couldn’t help but rake his fingers through his beard in thought. “I wonder if they also have the third book.”

Thorlof looked at him with complete confusion. “There’s a _third_ book in the series? People only say there’s two!”

Bormic shrugged. “That’s because it was published under a different author. It was also hand written just like the other ones had been but has fewer copies. It’s also much tougher to find. I can’t remember the name of it or the name of the author for the life of me though. But I know that the story takes place some years after the events of the first two.”

Thorlof smiled fully at Bormic. “Thank you, friend. I will certainly have to find a copy of the book and read it any chance I get. Still can’t believe he-”

“Woah, hey, don’t even finish that sentence. I may know that there’s a third book out there but that doesn’t mean I’ve had the chance to read the first two.”

Thorlof raised his hands in a display of ‘sorry’. “Forgive my ignorance.”

Bormic dipped his head once to show that he had. “Now, I suppose we should delve into that ruin, eh?”

The party nodded. Thorlof nudged Salet softly. “Ladies first,”

She huffed and rolled her eyes before grabbing her weapon, testing its balance once more and walked inside. Ralof followed Bormic in after and Thorlof went last, closing the door behind them, leaving them to deal with the horrid, unmoving air of the crypt.

“Always _did_ hate the draugr,” Ralof mumbled.

“Well,” Bormic said, showing a smile despite knowing they would have to spend a day or more in the long nearly-abandoned halls, “now’s the perfect time to get reaquainted, I think.”

Ralof could only scoff in response.


	14. Party of Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings everyone! I'm very sorry on the delay for this chapter but I was busy scratching an itch that refused to dissipate which then turned into 19.5k words of something or other over the course of eight days. So I've got this new chapter all ready and stuff should return to normal provided that Stardew Valley doesn't devour my life.  
> Hope you all like this chapter and stick around for the next ones.

Raven Rock wasn’t much different than when they had last been there. The place was still covered in ash, Dunmer was still the majority of the population and the guards were still in the usual spot. No one batted an eye at the four companions who had come from the mine, nor did they give any attention to those who they walked past.

The four people met in the town centre and all of them shook hands before departure. “You know, I wish Kryštof was here with Salet and I on this little endeavour we stumbled upon. He’s a real fighter that one,”

Bormic and Ralof looked at Thorlof curiously. “Never heard the name ‘Kryštof’ mentioned by you before.”

Thorlof chuckled and then sighed almost sadly. “I don’t speak of him often. He is one of my closest friends, since childhood in fact, and he’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen. If you know of the Arena in the Imperial City, you’d know him as ‘Dragonheart’.” Thorlof smiled sadly. “I wish I could go back to Cyrodiil and tell him just how right he was.”

“Wait,” Bormic started, “you’re telling me your friend is  _ the _ Dragonheart?”

Ralof looked at Bormic now, still confused. “You know him?”

Bormic nodded. “Yeah, not in person mind you, but I heard of his victory back when I was in Morrowind. Slew my father’s friend; big mountain of a Nord who always had an axe with him. He respects those who can beat him in battle and I have little doubt that he showed his appreciation somehow.”

Thorlof nodded once the exchange ended. “Yes, I know Dragonheart. He chose the name in honour of me, actually. Said he could see a dragon in me. I didn’t really believe him when he said it but, turns out he was right.”

Bormic smiled. “Seems like a perceptive fellow.”

Thorlof nodded. “Yeah, he is. And I’m sorry to hear your uncle died to him.”

Bormic shrugged. “It’s no problem at all. He was a good and respectable man but he died a warrior’s death and that’s all that mattered to him. Got me started in the mercenary business, in fact.”

Thorlof looked at Bormic with surprise. “You were a mercenary? Kryštof was one as well, before I moved down to the Arcane University and he quit his job to move. Got into the Arena a few days after I got into the University and the rest is history.”

Salet couldn’t help but allow a smirk onto her usually cold expression. “And I’m still a mercenary. Speaking of, you should give me my pay soon Thorlof,”

Thorlof chuckled and waved a hand at Salet. “After Bormic and Ralof go on their way, Salet. You’ll get your pay all in due time so just be patient.”

Salet huffed. “Sooner or later I’ll leave you for someone who can pay more consistently, young one.”

Thorlof smiled and shook his head. “I have doubts of that. You like me too much to leave.”

Salet snorted disdainfully and folded her arms, turning away from the mage. “Oh yes, because you’re the  _ only  _ reason I nearly die at a consistent rate. Not like the pay influences that at all.”

Thorlof turned his attention back to the two Stormcloaks and shook hands with them. “Well, I wish you well on your adventure across the island. May your feet lead you along a wondrous adventure,”

“May the Gods smile upon you, Thorlof. We shall have to see one another some time in the future.” Ralof said.

Thorlof agreed, as well as Bormic. “If you can find me, I shall always welcome the company. Safe travels, friends.”

The party of one split into two and Bormic and Ralof made their way to the bulwark that lead out into the ashy dangers of Solstheim once more, after buying more supplies from the market and picking up their stalhrim gauntlets from the local blacksmith who had been happy to give them to the man who had done a little task for him.

The bulwark itself was rather impressive, made of light and faded red stone brick that stood proudly taller than everything else in the city with the end going into the water of the port that made Raven Rock such a good spot for a city. Several guards walked along the bulwark and under it, on patrol as was their job. Torches flickered lazily along its length, showing auras of orange light that didn’t have much effect in the middle of the day like it was.

“So, we’ve got something like seventeen days before we have to head back. I guess we should get started with exploring the other half of the island, eh?” Bormic asked his fellow Stormcloak.

Ralof nodded agreement. “Wish we could have been with Thorlof some more, but I understand that there’s a reason we came here and killing Thalmor was not the reason. Thorlof and Salet can manage just fine on their own.”

Bormic agreed and they began walking out of the city, through the hole in the bulwark and out into the ashy winds of Solstheim. A chill wind bit into them from the south, blocked entirely from bulwark previously, and the two Nords might have shivered if they weren’t already entirely adapted to the consistent cold of the north. They passed an old rundown farm by the time the sun was beginning to set and they decided to press on until the farm was out of sight. The farm was completely destroyed and the wood was sculpted by the winds batting against it constantly. The roof was non-existent and only the framework remained almost entirely in place.

The whole place had a foreboding air around it and Bormic shivered. “I never like seeing destroyed buildings that have been completely deserted. Reminds me of the argonian uprising and the effects of the Red Mountain.”

Ralof couldn’t help but agree with his friend. “Ain’t much better in Skyrim. There, you never know what could have destroyed the building. But this one, I say this was more intentional than not.”

Bormic shivered unintentionally. “Let’s go until it’s out of sight and then some. I don’t want to have to deal with whatever was the cause of that.” He pointed to the ruined building and quickened his pace.

Ralof only followed as a friend and companion would.

The camp they set up along a ridge with overgrowing, viney bushes and fallen charred trees, was quaint enough. A small glowing fire flickered and greedily licked the wood it had been provided and a small hedge of stones made sure the fire didn’t spread easily. Bormic’s tent had been set up, as well as Ralof’s, and Bormic was once more using his amazing survival cooking skills to use. The stuff the man could turn into food was amazing, if not very tasty.

Ralof pulled out the map that Bormic had been keeping and scribbling on with various dates and times and activities usually accompanied with a few question marks that had been etched onto the inked parchment with charcoal. Tel Mithryn was one of the destinations on the list, as well as the Skaal village, plus a spot far up to the north. It looked to be an island covered in ice and rock. Ralof smiled inwardly as he studied the location.  _ That could be where I say my true feelings for him… _

Bormic was too busy trying to make sure the food didn’t burn to pay much attention to the blonde and younger soldier. He occasionally swatted at the back of his neck or his hands, probably to get rid of the various insects that tended to be around. The ebony way axe Bormic knew as his and his alone was at his side, entirely within arm’s reach.

“Studying for a test over there, Ralof?” Bormic grinned as he cooked whatever he had managed to cobble together. At least it looked and smelled edible enough.

Ralof shook his head although he had a smile on his face. “No, just going over what you planned for us to visit and see in our days of travel in greater detail.” He found something he was looking for on the map. “What’s this ‘possible danger’ spot on the map?”

Bormic shrugged. “I don’t know. That was etched on when I got a hold of the map. But I think we should listen to the person’s advice. I’d rather make it back to Skyrim without injury.”

Ralof was inclined to agree with his friend. “True. So, we’ve got a two day travel to Tel Mithryn?”

“Or three. I left enough time for us to spend a day there before moving on.” Bormic said from the other side of the camp.

Ralof frowned. “I don’t think one day is enough to enjoy being around a set of mushrooms so big you could live in them.”

Bormic shrugged again. “We’ve only got two days to spend with the Skaal in their village, the rest of it we’ll be walking mostly. But I agree with you, although we’ve spent enough time as is just being lazy in Raven Rock and chasing after Thalmor.”

Valid points. “Do you think we’ll run into anything out of the ordinary while on our adventure?”

Bormic nodded without a moment of hesitation. “I’m fairly certain we will. Kind of the reason I cut out one of the smaller, two day long adventures we could have gone on. If something demands our time like an event out of the ordinary, best be somewhat prepared for it at least.”

They fell into a companionable silence shortly after, continuing their current activities although still entirely enjoying one another’s company. But one question hit Ralof like his warhammer soon enough. “Who was this Nord who you were speaking before? Your father’s friend?”

Bormic looked up from his slowly cooking meal. “Well, his name is… was Mitus. Big bear of a man, I think I’m an inch or so taller than he was, though. Had a beard that went down to his sternum, with almost the same colour as my own. He had muscles of a bear and the stomach of one too, and nearly as much hair. His hair was always in a state of such disorder that Sheogorath himself would probably go insane, and his eyes were of a rich emerald green.”

Ralof frowned. “I meant his personality.”

Bormic raised his eyebrows. “Oh! Sorry about that. Erm… he was as much a warrior as Galmar was. Always enjoyed a stiff drink and was entirely an uncle to me. Hell, knowing how many Nords there are in Morrowind, he could have very well been my uncle through blood. But he was a good man, proud in those who beat him in combat and respectful of those who couldn’t. Like I had said before, he was the one who got me into mercenary work and he had a way of assessing people like you wouldn’t believe. He could figure if someone was dishonest or loyal at a glance. But, he was also sometimes a little overly confident in his own martial prowess, especially when he had knocked back a few ales.”

“Sounds like you miss him,” Ralof states the obvious.

Bormic inclined his head. “I do. Sometimes he was more father than Thalyn was. He saw the potential in me and more often than not got into fights with my Dunmeri father on what I could do in life and what I should do. He was always a firm believer of the ability to be anything and anyone given enough practices, stars and Gods be damned. Thalyn always wanted me to be a mage and learn the arts of destruction magic while Mitus said for me to have freedom in what I wanted.”

Bormic nodded once more and frowned in sadness. “Yeah. I miss him.”

Ralof walked over and sat down on the log his friend was and patted him on the shoulder, shoving back the urge to rest his head on it. “I can understand that.”

Bormic brought his frown back to a smile somewhat but only because he was trying. “Most people can. But thank you, Ralof. I don’t like talking about him much, although I loved him as family. Brings back so many memories I fear I might drown. But, thanks for listening. Not many people do.”

Ralof patted his friend’s shoulder a few more times. “I asked, I think I should listen. And thank you for not being all locked up about it.” Finally, the urge just became too much and Ralof mentally drew the white flag and rested his head on Bormic’s shoulder. The Nord was surprised by the action his friend had taken, but didn’t avoid it. Instead, he gently moved his hand across Ralof’s waist to move him closer. Ralof accepted the subtle suggestion.

Bormic smiled a little.  _ Yes, there absolutely seems to be hope for us yet. _


	15. Past and Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm getting back into the swing of things now with updates, hopefully, being more frequent. Finished another chapter as well and I'll sit on that in case I don't make another chapter for several days; could happen.  
> So, enjoy this one right here and I'll see you over at the next one.

The morning greeted them as it always did, too early and too bright. Although, with the layer of ash it was considerably darker which was a nice change. With a quick packing of the camp, the rebels in blue went on their way once more, crossing streams, rocks and trees, fallen and standing. One foot after the other, the usual. The same old movements they had mimicked hundreds of times before.

Scarcely a work was spoken between them as they trudged through the spongy ash underfoot, with the two of them preferring companionable silence as opposed to speaking. Speaking spent energy that they wanted to save until they were at least to Tel Mithryn, or camp. Either one was fine but out in the open where they still had several hours of daylight left? No, they both decided it was best to remain silent. There was no need for words between them, they knew what to do should an obstacle show itself.

Although they remained silent, both their minds were actively thinking a lot. More than the simple thoughts and orders of moving or dusting the ash off their cloak or clothes, sometimes both, and instead was thinking of what had happened last night. While Ralof’s mind was full of hating himself for acting too soon, Bormic’s mind raced with optimism. Maybe he would finally be able to live out the many scenarios his mind had conquered up of being with Ralof as more than friends. And with each day passing on the island that made him remember of the best and worst times of his childhood, it seemed that such ideas and fantasies were getting closer to becoming reality than Bormic had ever guessed.

With a glance up at the sky, Bormic threw down his pack into the ash with a sigh. “Now’s as good a time as any to stop for the night.”

Ralof agreed without a word and proceeded to do something similar to Bormic, setting up his tent, laying down a sheet of thick fabric he had obtained from a tight-fisted merchant back in Raven Rock onto the ash and began piling up some wood for a fire, letting Bormic use what little magic he knew to set the small bit of parchment underneath some small twigs to get the fire started.

Bormic offered a spot beside him and Ralof took it, although to Bormic’s disappointment, not close enough to pull him close. He’d probably have to correct that sooner or later into the night. “Do you want to talk about last night?” He offered.

Ralof looked his way and with a short nod scooted a little closer although still out of arm’s reach if Bormic didn’t stretch. “I think so.”

Bormic raised an eyebrow in an era-honoured fashion. “You only think so?”

Ralof shrugged resignedly and shifted just a fraction closer. Bormic would assume about a centimeter or two. “Well, I’m not sure.” He continued before Bormic could respond. “I mean, I feel like I want to but that I also don’t, you know?”

Bormic made a face that all too clearly said  _ Not really _ . “Can’t say I do. But I think I have a vague idea.”

Ralof frowned. “It’s just… let’s give it time for now, okay? I… don’t feel too ready just yet.”

Bormic raised his hands in a style that said  _ I’m fine with that _ . “Take as long as you need. Not like I’m dying any time soon,” he said with a grin.

Ralof couldn’t help but chuckled and roll his eyes at his friend. “By the time you die, you’ll be on your deathbed passing on your final wishes to your son.”

Bormic looked at him skeptically. “Really? I would have thought I’d make it to Sovngarde with a weapon in my hand and someone by my side.”

“Is that  _ someone _ me, by any chance?”

“If you’re fine with that, yes, I’d prefer you over anyone else. Oh, and remind me to show you a special somewhere off in Eastmarch when we get back. It’s important to me and I think you should see it.”

“Okay,” Ralof agreed.  _ Thanks Bormic, now I’m burning with curiosity. _

Bormic clasped his hands together and then all but dove into his pack beside him, searching for something before finally sitting back up and showing his friend an odd little leather box shaped… whatever it was. He opened it up and pulled out some dried and salted Ash Hopper meat and tossed some to Bormic. “Eat up, you’ll need strength for tomorrow no doubt. We still have about a half day’s walk to Tel Mithryn.”

“Do you know anything about Tel Mithryn?” Ralof asked as he once again bit into the garlic and herb flavoured bug meat, although this time it was more like eating his boot if it had been covered in garlic, salt and some unidentifiable herbs. If  _ that _ was what happened to Ash Hopper a few days of being left in that leather box-ish device Bormic used to hold food, Ralof could only imagine what it would be like when they reached the village of the Skaal. He might have a better time eating a mountain than the Ash Hopper by that time.

“Aside from the fact that the place is a giant, hollowed out mushroom owned by some wizard of House Telvanni, no. I don’t.” Bormic seemed to have an easier time chewing and eating the meat but he was probably used to it being tougher and more flavourless, Ralof thought. Bormic swallowed the tough, leathery food and belched a little. “I think we should be welcomed enough there though. Most Telvanni are said to be rather hospitable and kind, if rumours are to be believed.”

“So, since you know so little about them, what makes you think they’ll even help us?” Ralof asked.

Bormic gave a shrug in response. “I don’t know, really. Maybe we can pay for a night and then be on our way or stay for a little longer. All I know is I want to see a giant mushroom house before I leave back for Skyrim once more.”

“And what about the Skaal?”

Bormic leaned back and let his hands hold himself up. “What about them?” He said quietly.

Ralof shifted several centimeters closer to hear his friend better. “Was just wondering why we’re going to see them.”

“Maybe because I thought seeing our fellow Nords would be nice. And I also want to see just how frozen the north of this place is, more so than that damn Thalmor camp.” Bormic said, a little quieter than last time. Ralof moved closer to hear him better once more. “But we have the time to see them so why not, right?”

Ralof paused, seeming to make up a decision in his mind before he said something that caught him a little off guard - but not entirely. “Want to talk about your past a little more?”

Bormic blinked several times before shrugging. “Okay, why not? You’ve already explained yours as the most boring thing ever, so fine, I suppose mine is more interesting. What do you want to know?”

“What was your first job as a mercenary?” Ralof asked without hesitation.

Bormic frowned as he remembered the events. “First job as a mercenary… I with was Mitus at the time, him and I had been rolled into the same group by chance and the amount of coin given. We were to clear a few camps full of argonian rebels, kill all and show no mercy. We were entirely successful, actually. Even got a few kills in myself. Of course, I ended up with an arrow shot into me as well, a few centimeters from my heart and that was why I fear arrows. Also ended up with a cut on my right arm which left a good enough scar.

“Three camps we destroyed, burning the cloth and weapons into something entirely useless. Always struck at night too, never in the day. It was an okay experience. I had certainly endured better and also suffered worse.”

“What about the worst job you took?” Ralof asked his friend, and hopefully by the time they left for Skyrim, lover. Just thinking of calling the man as such made Ralof’s heart pound in his chest.

Bormic thought about it for several moments, scratching his beard which was growing more and more natural styled with each day. “My final job as a mercenary. The one I told you about back in  _ The Retching Netch _ . It was…” the face Bormic made just from remembering the event told Ralof that it wasn’t one he liked to revisit at all. “It was terrible really. I wasn’t with Mitus this time but everything seemed fine: assault this fort filled with bandits, you can keep what they get and collect your pay afterwards.”

Bormic shook his head sadly. “The de-facto leader of the group, Culven, made us assault the fort the night after we got there. An ash storm was brewing just on the other side of the short mountain range the fort was placed against and he lead us all into just going for it early. Turned out to be a huge mistake, they had more archers than we could have dealt with and I watched as one by one, the people of our group were picked off by a volley of arrows. I only managed to escape because I my shield had been made specifically for blocking steel and, more specifically, arrows. They battered against the shield uselessly as I made my way out to inform the man who had hired us of our failure to do his bidding.”

“And then the ash storm hit?” Ralof asked.

“And then the ash storm hit,” Bormic echoed. “At first it seemed fine, I had been through worse but it became increasingly worse up until the point I could no longer see my hand two centimeters from my nose. My feet were sore and my legs screamed for rest, but I couldn’t give them the respite they so desired for if I stopped, I’d be covered in ash. Only by moving was I able to continuously shake it off and keep myself from suffocating. Like I’m sure I’ve said before, I quit shortly after that. I didn’t want to ever go through something like that again.”

“Didn’t you get lost?”

Bormic nodded swiftly. “Yes, I did. Sixteen days I spent walking around, unknowing where I was. The ash storm had ended since the second day, but I was in an entirely unknown section of Morrowind. At least to me, and I had no map with me to even have an idea as to where I was. On the fourteenth day I actually found a road to follow and on the sixteenth, I found a town I spent a good amount of my gold on, getting more supplies, a map and recovering from my endless walking. When I made it back to our official building, I told the man running it I was quitting and that was that. Mitus was still supporting of that and could see the reasons behind my quitting.”

“What happened after that?” Ralof asked. He had an idea of what would happen but he wanted confirmation.

“I went back home, spent some time there and then the Empire began its conscription. Of course, it was slow and they hardly went into the cities to take people out of their homes so it was safest at the cities and that’s when I hit my truly ‘odd jobs’ section of my Morrowind life. Best we stay out of that part for now.”

Ralof nodded and moved just a little closer to Bormic. Bormic, seeing an opportunity arise, quickly leaned over and clasped his hands around Ralof who yelped in surprise and tugged him close.

“There we are. Better I say, feeling happier already,” Bormic grinned and Ralof rolled his eyes at his friend’s acts of knavery. “You’re quite the little antidote to sadness, Ralof. Keep that in mind, will you?”

Ralof’s eyebrows raised and he squirmed a little to escape Bormic’s hands which seemed more iron clasp than actual hand. He felt his cheeks flush and every time Bormic touched him, an electric shock fired through him. At least, until he settled himself down although his cheeks were still a rosey red.

Bormic noticed and couldn’t help but let his hand drift to Ralof’s waist. His blond friend lurched away for a moment but then settled down. Bormic chuckled a little. Amazing how a simple push in the right direction can cause. He knew that Ralof would be ready on his own terms but Bormic felt it was best to give Ralof a taste of what he would be missing during that time.

He only hoped that would speed up the process.


	16. Tel Mithryn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, really short chapter, I know. But I felt it was an okay enough time to end the chapter. The next one should be out in a few days or so, as is the usual.

Tel Mithryn was more impressive than Bormic and Ralof could have ever guessed. The mushroom was easily the size of the Palace of Kings, or maybe a bit smaller, and about as round as well. Although it seemed a lot more natural than a giant building of stone, well, as natural as a giant palace-sized mushroom could be. A set of stairs had been carved into one of the giant roots and several smaller mushrooms were around although all of them were still house sized, again with stairs carved into the roots. Currently, it seemed some sort of activity was going on regarding a giant ash-made… creature. It stood roughly two and a half meters tall and looked more like a whirlwind of dust and ash than anything human despite the two arms and round rock that made its arms and head. It was attacking one of the mages, who was screaming for someone to help, and Bormic and Ralof shrugged to one another and pulled out their weapons.

The battle itself lasted less than a minute, with Bormic cutting one of the ash-blocks in half and Ralof managing to smash its head in when it fell to one non-existent knee in pain or whatever it felt. The thing had crumpled into ashy stones and dust on the ground and lay motionless after the conscious of it faded off to wherever giant ash monster souls go. The mage looked at the two Stormcloaks, his eyes wide and face glistening with sweat. “By Azura, thank you!”

His voice was high pitched and rather… un-Dunmer, Bormic decided. It seemed to belong more to an Imperial or Nord of his sixteenth Nameday celebration rather than who he looked like, a Dunmer in his early twenties. His face was gaunt and shaven with trimmed black hair adorning his head between his pointed ears. His red eyes looked at the two soldiers with gratitude.

“Think nothing of it,” Bormic said, sheathing his blade with Ralof doing the same. “Simply helping out is all. We’re just here to stay for a day or so and then we’ll be on our way.”

The Dunmer, wearing robes that Bormic identified of a somewhat accomplished mage, nodded several times and wiped some sweat away with the cuff of his robe. “Well… I’m not really the master here, you should probably speak to him if you’re looking to stay. He might allow you to stay in the mushroom or you’ll have to pitch a tent somewhere in the area. Aside from Master Neloth’s house, the huge mushroom, we don’t have any spare room for visitors.”

“Ah, I see. Is Neloth available right now?” Bormic asked.

The junior mage nodded. “I would think he is. Just walk onto the glowing pad and stand still for several seconds, magic will take care of the rest.”

Bormic inclined his head in thanks and went off to see whoever ‘Master Neloth’ was with Ralof following swiftly behind him. After what had happened a few nights ago, Ralof had been somewhat missing the sensations that Bormic brought to him but he resolved that when he made it to the north, near that little frozen island, he would say he loved him. That was when it would happen and he was going to stick to it… ...as much as he’d like to rush ahead.

They walked up the steps of the giant mushroom which the mage by the name of Neloth resided. The door was simplistic and seemed to be there only to keep out the ash that Solstheim regularly brought. The small room on the other side of the room was more a tunnel that faced upwards, with a blue swirling pattern on the floor. Bormic stood still for a few moments as instructed and Ralof did the same. With an unexpected shift, Bormic realized that he was in fact floating up to the top of the mushroom. There was a bridge that extended out a little ways and when Bormic reached to it, the same magic that brought him up also brought him onto the bridge. He landed deftly and Ralof managed to fall down and make the bridge groan. Ralof made the same noise the bridge did before hauling himself up and sending a murderous glare to Bormic who simply laughed; doubly so when he received Ralof’s glare of death.

At the sound of all the commotion, a bald Dunmer with a black beard with flecks of salt and pepper on it emerged from one of the rooms to look at the two visitors he received. He wore robes that marked him as a wizard, and a high ranking and powerful one at that, while his hands remained empty of even a staff. “What is it you two want?” His voice seemed much more Dunmer, Bormic thought wryly, with an annoyance and deep tone that would be expected of the race.

Bormic was the first one to say anything while Ralof dusted himself off and readjusted several things in and on his pack. “We’re just here to stay for a day or two. Was wondering if you would give us the permission to do so.”

Neloth, or at least who Bormic assumed to be Neloth, eyed the two of them, deciding the black haired Nord who was bulkier than the blond one was also of higher intelligence and sense of balance. “Is that so?”

The black-haired Nord nodded. “Yes. We saved your apprentice from whatever that creature was. I assume it was an atronach.”

Neloth’s gaze on the Nord was now more of intrigue than wariness. “It was an atronach. I would have assumed that a Nord wouldn’t be able to tell a wolf apart from a fox.”

“Well, Nords aren’t stupid.” Bormic said. “We’re mostly just ignorant.” He spoke in a more deflated and annoyed tone but changed his mood before he spoke again. “So… was saving your apprentice enough to earn our stay?”

Neloth sighed and nodded. “I suppose so. Wish I had my old apprentice back, now _he_ was a man of competence. He knew what to do under such situations and wouldn`t make them in the first place. Now I have some incompetent fool as an apprentice who can grasp magic only decently and seems to be more air than flesh within his skull.”

Bormic shrugged. “Well, what can you do, right? Not like you can really go and get your old apprentice back.”

Neloth sighed and shook his head. “No, I can’t. But, back to you and away from my apprentices. I suppose you could stay in the storage room here if you want, there’s room enough for the both of you. Outside might be a bit more preferable for me however, as Nords tend to be loud snorers.”

“Keeps the wildlife away,” Bormic said with another shrug although he also sported a grin.

“So it does.” Neloth said, in his own way that Bormic could identify as humour. That was gone when Neloth spoke next, however. “Right, well I’m a busy man and I would prefer it if I wasn’t being disturbed by you two, regardless of how intelligent you two might be. You can find more conversation in my apprentice or the few other people here in Tel Mithryn. Now I’m sure you can show yourselves out just fine. Just stay still on the bridge and once again, the runes at the bottom will take care of the rest.”

Bormic nodded and did as Neloth had instructed with Ralof following once more. _This time,_ Ralof chastised himself, _don’t lose your balance._

The magic took a hold of them once more and they drifted down onto the runes at somewhat ground level before walking out the door and into the cleared field where only ash rested. They quickly pitched their tents and set up a small fire although they had yet to light it. Bormic checked his golden pocket watch. It was roughly three hours until dark and there wasn’t much to do. An idea struck him soon enough with a solution. “Think we should go off and get some fresh food? Getting a bit tired of eating leather.”

Ralof perked up and looked at his friend. “That sounds like a great idea.”


End file.
